Silk Lines
by troubled.writings.x
Summary: It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago. NBC
1. Prologue

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
**

**Chapter: **Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

**Rating: **T - M

**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair

**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

**Prologue**

_Larrabee, Missouri; 2017_

Nate Archibald slouches on the stone steps of the hill-top church as the southern sun rises high in the sky, towers overhead, and penetrates a mixture of intense heat and the feeling of shame over the small town.

The heavy wooden door creaks opens and the sound of soft footsteps echo into his ears from behind him.

Nate knows that he probably looks like hell from being outside in the sweltering heat, but somehow he straightens up and wipes the sweat off his forehead as the perpetrator wordlessly sits next to him.

Her black dress and dark locks are the antithesis to the bright, scorching afternoon and although perspiration beings to collect over her features and neck, like it does to him, she is still beautiful, like she has always been.

And the moment Nate's exhausted blue eyes lock with hers, she slides her smaller hand into his and squeezes it assuringly, almost encouraging him to forget the hell they have been through.

The hell that all _three_ of them have been through; the tragedy no one had thought would strike, until it did.

And suddenly he feels weak because all his life Nate has thought he knew Chuck Bass, but maybe he never did.

And now, he never will.

–

_New York, New York; 2009_

Let sleeping dogs lie.

It occurs to him in the strangest moment, as he twirls his pencil between his fingers, sitting in front of his incomplete English assignment, that Nate loses his train of thought when his phone chirps.

It's Bree.

_Fuck_, she's kind of getting annoying now, and Nate doubts it really has anything to do with the bad blood in between their families and more with her dominant attitude.

Reluctantly, he answers, although he's not sure why. If he's so sick of her, then why does he continue to lead her on?

It's probably because he's not stoned yet.

Bree starts a casual conversation and asks what he's doing to which Nate slowly explains the task his professor has appointed; choose a commonly used phrase to describe the first person to come to mind.

So far, Nate has his name and the date written.

Bree's conspicuous personality strikes when she accusingly asks why he doesn't write about her. It nearly causes him to slam his phone shut with irritation because that kind of persona has only ever looked gratifying on one person.

_Blair._

Let sleeping dogs lie. It suits her just fine, actually.

It is her niche of never letting anything go completely that has shaped Blair into who she is.

It is also that niche that undoubtedly lands her in Chuck's bed.

Fuck, Nate can really go for that joint right now.

When he naively voices his opinion out loud, he is met by a fuming Bree on the other line, who jealously demands to know why he picks Blair over her. "I thought you guys weren't even close!"

Something inside him rips instantly like a band aid being torn angrily off a wound, because Bree's words trigger the first set of truths he has worked hard to leave along with his intimate memories of Blair.

"We're not."

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2010_

Taking a deep breath, Nate takes the ropes of the sail into his hands and pulls them tight, bringing life to the thick, white material that propels the Charlotte.

This voyage is going to be the first of many this summer and Nate is stumped as to how many times he has dreamed of this day during his long lectures at Columbia.

But he knows there have been many, because there is nothing to tie him back to the mainland for the next few months. No school, job or girlfriend.

As he picks up his discarded sandals and t-shirt from the deck, Nate hears someone call his name at the far end of the dock and it only takes him a few seconds to recognize a frantic Blair running from the distance.

Nate stands frozen for a couple of minutes, simply because he isn't sure how to react. He can't remember the last time he has been alone with Blair, and the way she looks so upset at the moment worries him because he doesn't know what's wrong but he should because she's his Blair, even when she's not his.

It's amazing how these realizations always come to him too late.

Once she is close enough and Nate can make out her face, he snaps out of his trance and leaps off the boat without a second thought and clings onto Blair as she lunges herself into his arms in a fury and cries so hard that he can't quite understand what she's saying through her tears.

He wonders why she didn't call him, but then he recalls leaving his phone at the beach house because he thinks it would be less distracting that no one have contact with him while he sails.

Nate immediately curses his juvenile impulse as he watches Blair collect herself and wipe away her tears because fuck, what if something had happened to her while he was away.

"Blair, what's wrong? What is it?" he asks anxiously, shaking her shoulders so she would answer him.

She looks up at Nate, taking quick, shallow breaths, ready to burst.

"It's... I..."

And then she collapses into his arms.

–

_And I've been thinking  
but it hurts me thinking,  
that these nights when we were drinking  
no, they never got us anywhere._


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **One  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2009_

The fourth of July this year is too cold to do much of anything.

It strikes Blair a little suspicious because the New York summer is never like this. It's usually hot and humid and sticky, much of which what she and Bass are, Chuck will joke.

But the heat-less sun doesn't seem to like the city much this season, and the rain and wind find company with the streets and tall buildings instead.

Blair doesn't take it as a sign, but she's sure she should.

Chuck finds her leaning against the window pane of his room as the fireworks break over the inky Manhattan sky.

"What are you up to tonight?" He asks her, turning down the lights.

Everyone is uptown, wanting to see what celebration the rest of the city has planned, however, Blair is in a strange mood and does not quite feel like going out like she has normally done.

"You're looking at it," says Blair before she breathes against the cold glass and watches the condensation vaporize. "You?"

Grinning smugly, Chuck parrots her own words as he stares at her from the edge of the bed. "You're looking at it."

She turns and gazes at the colors flow over him and make his eyes twinkle in shades of blue and orange.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2010_

The picture of Blair that Nate secretly carries around in his head is a lot different than the girl passed out on the bed in the small bedroom of the Charlotte.

To him, she's a girl draped head to toe in Chanel and she's enveloped in that air of purpose and confidence he knows so well, but the young woman in front of him barely resembles Blair in her white tee, Burberry shorts and her hair piled haphazardly on her head.

He wonders where her dresses and her designer sandals and her headbands are, and guiltily Nate ponders the thought of where her heart is because he hasn't seen it in a long time.

Or maybe he has seen it sewn on a sleeve that isn't his.

Nervously, Nate glances at her resting form in hope that she might wake up and prove him wrong.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Chuck starts to get headaches all the time. That's when she starts to get worried.

"Relax, Blair." He rolls his eyes irritably. "I'm fine."

At first she thinks it's because he's working too late and isn't getting enough sleep, but the pain seems to be getting more severe by the day.

Blair keeps urging him to see a doctor to no avail until finally Chuck relents as he rolls his eyes and puts on his coat and tries to give her a goodbye kiss.

"No," she swats him away with her hand, "go to the doctor and come back and then we'll kiss."

"Quit acting so paranoid, Waldorf. I'm sure it's nothing."

"I know, but I'm allowed to worry."

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

One cloudy summer morning Nate receives a phone call from his former best friend.

Chuck, for all this whimsy and lack of focus has grown into a serious man, Nate realizes, because it's one of the things he takes a lot of blame for.

That and other things.

"I took some time off work," Chuck tells him, his tone very deliberate. "I did it because I want to come and visit you for a few days."

"Yeah, okay."

Nate's response is out before he can fully process Chuck's words. The only thing that makes it through him is that a man wants to come see him – a man he hasn't seen in years.

He wants to backtrack and maybe erase some of the desperation that must have lingered in his tone, but Nate doesn't see the point because soon Chuck asks about sailing and the local scene and the girls in town like the two never stopped being friends.

Before they say goodbye, Nate gingerly asks him to pass along his greetings to Blair, because she's still in the city and he knows it.

His stomach drops when Chuck informs him that he hasn't seen Blair in months and strangely Nate believes him.

As he hangs up and goes about the tasks of checking on the Charlotte, Nate finally notices his second nature of reseting the coffee machine, latching the locks and turning off the television.

He knows they are necessary and predictable things, but all his subconscious is thinking about is how everything in his life is also like this.

And if he's being entirely honest with himself, he knows exactly why.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Blair glances uneasily at the white walls and the smell of antiseptic makes her nauseous as she grips Chuck's hand so tight she's afraid she might break it.

"_I have a tumor, Blair._"

"How bad is it?" She forces her voice not to tremble, because she has to be strong for Chuck. For herself, really, because part of her knows he is strong enough for them both.

The doctor, whose name neither of them can remember, taps his pen on his clipboard before sliding it atop his ear, burying the utensil in his aging gray hair as if it's procedure.

"We caught it late. The tumor is situated in a spot in the brain that is impossible to operate on."

Blair feels Chuck's eyes trying to find hers while the voice in her throat falters and she starts having a terrible time breathing.

"How bad is it?" She has to repeat herself because her throat is so dry that it's suffocating her.

"There are still some more tests to perform and treatments we can do." The doctor finally states. The wrinkles on his face sag heavily as he clenches his lips in between his teeth. "We think it's terminal."

Blair's body shrivels forward while Chuck stays frozen in his seat. Her mind goes blank and her heart races frantically and _fuckfuckfuck_, some doctor has just informed her that her boyfriend is dying, and she doesn't even know his name or what in the hell to do.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2010_

When Blair wakes up she feels crisp bedsheets, the smell of polished wood, and the sound of slow, soft rock swirl all together around her.

And when she eventually opens her eyes, they glisten in both the familiarity and dimness of the small bedroom of the Charlotte.

She knows this boat almost as well as she knows its owner.

As Blair scrambles to sit up in the bed, she watches Nate come down the stairs outside the room and in through the door, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees that she is awake.

The music stops and the stereo in the corner starts up again with a new song, something a little faster this time. Blair suspects that whatever moment they'd been having is over, so she stands up and goes to leave.

"You okay?" Nate asks as he stares at her.

"No." Blair answers weakly, closing her eyes momentarily as she approaches him. She doesn't know how to say it, so she just does, all in one breath, "Chuck's sick, Nate. He has cancer."

The realization of her own words does not cease to stop the wetness in her eyes. The entire point of Blair coming here was so she could find the comfort and solace she remembers with Nate, even though they haven't spoken since their break up.

Blair ignores her rational side saying her logic is unreasonable and a load of bullshit.

Apparently, from the looks of things, Nate thinks so too, because he is looking at her with his face so devoid of expression that it makes her seriously uncomfortable and almost regret driving all the way here to see him, of all people.

The stereo changes songs again, and Blair thinks she sees the truth snap into focus before his eyes.

"We'll go back to the city tomorrow, Blair."

Here comes trouble.


	3. Chapter 2

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Two  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

It's almost too hard to tell Serena because she's always with Carter and the two are inseparable. He makes her best friend so incredibly happy that telling her about Chuck's illness feels like committing a sin.

Serena is dumbstruck at first when they finally inform her over dinner, but soon she's gasping so loud that Blair doubts she's going to try to quiet herself down.

"No," she shouts, a flood of tears break free like a broken dam, as she jumps out of her seat and is beside Chuck in an instant, "no, no, no. We'll get you the best doctors – "

"Serena," says Chuck, as if he's already too tired to talk. "They think it's terminal. I have a year – a year and a half, tops."

And then his stepsister starts to breakdown, and Carter, and it's as though he's _everywhere_ Serena is, rushes over to comfort her. But Blair sits still, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing, because now she has to be strong for her best friend.

She notices that Carter's not crying either. He's just sitting there, holding Serena while she bawls, and for some reason the sight makes Blair want to cry even more.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2010_

As the sun sets under the Atlantic, Nate sits anchored to the deck with his elbows on his knees, facing the final rays of light the prominent object infiltrates over the water.

It's his favourite place to sit, as he listens to the waves crash along the boat and the distant shoreline. There's a peace in the ocean that Nate has barely known growing up a city boy, and perhaps that's why he loves boats and sailing and the water so damn much.

Tonight, he's not entirely certain how to broach the subjects of Blair's arrival and Chuck's sickness all at once. So Nate plants himself quietly on the planks of the Charlotte and digs his hands deeply into his pockets for a joint.

As he's about to get up and find a lighter, the joint is yanked from his grasp.

"I thought you stopped smoking these," says Blair, as she sits opposite to him and studies the item.

He mumbles something incoherent and reaches forward, trying to pry the joint from her hand.

They struggle for a moment before Blair throws it overboard into the dark water.

Grieving at the loss, Nate sighs and falls back onto the wooden deck and stares up into the navy sky where the stars begin to open into view.

The silence is making him even more uneasy than losing the joint, which is unnerving; not knowing how to talk to this girl Nate has known his whole life. He knows that he'd have figured out about Chuck sooner or later, and the fact that Blair has come all the way from New York to tell him the news, knowing that they aren't close, puzzles him greatly.

"Blair, why are you here?" Nate asks as he squints and tries to locate a constellation above him.

"I couldn't sleep down there," she answers, inversely stretching herself out beside him, "you know how boats makes me feel."

"What I meant," he replies, "is why did you come here_?_ Why did you come to _see me_? I would have found out about Chuck on my own."

Blair doesn't respond for a while and Nate is forced to think that maybe she hasn't heard him.

"I came because my mom's in Europe and Serena's a mess," says Blair as she sits up and tucks her feet underneath her, "I came because... after all that, where else am I supposed to go?"

Nate winces considering he's not terribly enamored by her words.

It isn't the first time he's been the choice that isn't first, and that, he realizes, is what is so painful about seeing Blair after all this time.

The night is dark, but the moon is bright enough to illuminate her face, and when Nate looks into her sulky eyes, he cannot recognize the girl he sees and that scares him.

All his life, Blair has been pulling him along in her wake, making his actions a counterpoint of her own, because he has wanted her to. Because she has known him more than anyone else, and that's what makes him trust her.

"Hey, I bet you can't find the big dipper," he challenges Blair, whilst gazing at something twinkle like a star in her eye.

_Action and reaction_.

Years away from this pattern and he falls right back into it as easily as he'd never left it.

–

_Washington DC, Maryland; 2012_

A few weeks after New Year's Tripp's first daughter is born.

Sophie Anne van der Bilt is a bounty of different and wonderful things – beautiful, fussy, small, and Nate is certain the list can go on. She's a mixture of both her parents, with her mother's eyes and nose, and definitely, _definitely_, Tripp's smile.

When Nate holds her for the first time all he can think about are the knots in his stomach. Sophie, who is resting peacefully and hasn't got a worry in the world, looks so unbelievably fragile that he's afraid he might drop her.

But with Maureen's guidance, Sophie shifts into his arms with ease and Nate cradles her for so long that he's lost track of time. And when he runs his fingertips over her small fist, Sophie's tiny fingers uncurl and wrap protectively around one of his.

And she never lets go, not that Nate minds – it feels nice to be wanted.

–

_Connecticut, 2010_

Blair glares at the empty road as she sits huddled silently in the passenger's seat of Nate's car on their ride back to New York.

She's unbelievably exhausted and sore from sleeping on the deck all night last night, and every time she closes her eyes she just can't seem to fall asleep.

It really doesn't help that Nate is just as fidgety as she is. He sits staring ahead with his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel in a constant flutter of nervous energy. His leg bounces, fingers constantly twitch around the radio dial, and he chews away at his bottom lip in distraction.

Sometimes she wonders what goes on inside his head.

Like this morning, when Nate had given her an ibuprofen and bit back a knowing grin, because he should have sent her back to bed and he chose not to.

That moment Blair had noticed the pain slowly wearing away. The constant, throbbing hurt that she has carried with her to Nate is slowly fading just like she has known it would.

A nagging voice suddenly appears in the back of her mind, but Blair doesn't know what it means, and right now, she doesn't want to. Instead she snuggles against the leather seat and the blue button down Nate has lent her, and allows his smell of sandalwood and toothpaste lull her to sleep.

–

_Washington DC, Maryland; 2012_

One night after the rest of the house retires to bed, Nate and his cousin stay up late by the bar near the far end of the house. It doesn't take long before the two men find themselves in a disorderly discussion of things worth dying for.

"Your country," says Nate, before taking a swig of cold beer from his bottle.

"Your family." Tripp whispers as he looks down at the wooden counter-top and smiles to himself.

And why shouldn't he?

Nate knows that Tripp is stuck in a dead-end, political job he despises, but he has Maureen and Sophie, and Nate can see the way they shape him. He sees how his cousin is always laughing with his family, and it looks like he can hardly breathe most of the time, but that's probably okay. Tripp doesn't need air when he has them.

And the longer Nate stays in this big old house, the more he can start to feel himself getting caught up in their happiness. That and the feeling that perhaps he's outstaying his visit.

By now, Nate sits stoically, palms enclosed around his beer, lost in thoughts his cousin would never want to be privy to.

"What happened with you and Blair?"

The words vault Nate back in time. It's like he's 20 years old again, feeling the affects of too many Long Island Iced Teas, while Blair sits and sobs in her bruised purple dress in his room, and he's overcome with the notion that his chest is detonating.

Nate barely manages to get off the bar stool and clutch his chest as he erupts into an violent fit of coughs.

He doesn't even give Tripp the chance to ask if he's alright before he answers. "I don't know. I honestly don't."

But Nate's words will never change the fact that he has loved Blair. Yeah, she has ripped his heart out and broken it into a hundred pieces, but it doesn't matter, because Blair still has every little piece of his torn heart.

The thought makes Nate hate himself a little bit, and he doesn't know why.


	4. Chapter 3

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Three  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

When the first of the great Manhattan skyline appears, Nate expects the Hallelujah chorus with the acrid smell of gas fumes and loud noises of the city to welcome him home.

But as he checks his mirrors and wonders how he will ever get out of this traffic before sunset, the city swims before his eyes, becoming a muddled pool of colours and symbols.

It's only then, when a loud honk behind him wakes Blair up from her sleep, does Nate fully comprehend his arrival in New York.

Chuck has cancer for god knows how long and what kind of friend is Nate for only knowing so for 24 hours beforehand.

Nate blinks away the difficult realization, and tries to read the truth from between the lines of the grotesque structures and arches ahead. But he can't figure out any underlining meaning of any of it.

It's just a city with his maybe best friend dying in it. That's it.

Perhaps the woman next to him is the only reason Nate calls it home in the first place even when he has no right to.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

There's something different about Chuck – Nate sees it the minute the man is in front of him.

Of course, his once best friend is still dressed in custom-made suits and arrives in one of his many limousines, but Chuck's eyes give him away almost instantly. They no longer carry that dark, pitiful glare he has grown accustomed to.

Maybe, Nate thinks, maybe Chuck is finally growing up.

They don't hug or shake hands which he never would have noticed before, but he does now. Instead, Chuck takes a step back and looks at him and asks, "What's with the scruff?"

"It's been a long summer." Nate answers simply, hitching one of Chuck's bags higher up on his shoulder as they make their way up the steps to his home.

"It's only been a couple of weeks," counters Chuck.

"Exactly." Is all Nate says as he fights the urge to run a hand over the stubble covering his jaw line.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

As Blair steps out of his car, out of his sight, she knows that the next time she sees Nate, if there is a next time, nothing will be the same.

"Hey."

She turns around slowly as Nate talks through the passenger's seat window.

"Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to come up?" Nate asks diligently.

The entire car ride has been silent, and if he has to speak, Blair doesn't see the point in it being now, because _no_. She most probably isn't going to be okay once she's inside and there is no way in hell that she wants him to see that.

And it really doesn't matter that Nate has seen her at her worst before, because this is nothing like the other emotionally exhausting moments she has unfortunately had to endure throughout her life.

"No thanks," she waves him off discouragingly, hoping Nate won't press the matter any further.

But as usual, Nate feels the need to take her plan and tear it to shreds.

Blair watches helplessly as he opens his car door, waits for an oncoming vehicle to pass, before slamming it shut and jogging his way in her direction. He drops his voice so down low that she can barely hear it. However, she's so attuned to his every move, from the sound of his voice to the way he walks, so there's no possible way that she couldn't have heard him.

"Why didn't you tell me about Chuck before yesterday?"

"It's only been a couple of weeks since we found out, Nate." Blair replies.

"It takes you all that time to tell everyone but me?" Nate questions, eyes growing hard and his jaw clenching in defiance. "Why didn't you just call me the minute you found out?"

"Would it really have mattered?" she shouts.

Nate takes a step back towards the curb, shocked.

It's ironic how the many times Blair has ever yelled at anyone, it's almost always been Nate, while he has rarely ever raised his voice at her.

She invades his personal space, her face is tipped up to his and she's so close that she can feel the echo of his heartbeat in her ears. Or is it her own?

"Nate," says Blair as she takes a deep breath and speaks deliberately, "you've seldom been in our lives as of late, so excuse us if we feel that informing those who don't scamper away from everything and everyone every chance they get, are a little more convenient to talk to."

Blair is aware that she's hit a nerve because Nate being away in another state has nothing to do with him not knowing. Chuck has probably chose not to tell him because he knows Nate still cares, whereas he's forgotten all about him, and that makes Chuck feel shameful. And she... well it just hasn't been easy.

She used to be in love with Nate and now she's in love with his best friend – the idea of avoiding him shouldn't be a surprise to anyone.

But it's never stopped her before, and it surely has not stopped her now.

"Go home, Nate."

"Okay," he whispers finally, "but let me walk you to the door."

She sighs so deeply that it aches. "Fine."

And it's all nearly too easy and too simple, and somehow Blair knows the real problems have yet to begin.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

There's a wrap-around porch adjacent to the back of the small beach house Nate lives in during the summer. This is the place where he has spent countless nights when he is not on the Charlotte, and it's also the place he spends most evenings with Chuck now.

It's nice. That's what Chuck says to him every single time they are out here. It's nice, not great, not passionate, not amazing.

_It's nice to sit here and talk like friends again, Nate._

He's caught off guard by Chuck's statement and it sparks something primal within him.

Despite everything that's happened between them, he still cares for Chuck and wants him to be happy and healthy. Nate has learned how fleeting happiness can be a very long time ago.

However, Nate knows there will never be amnesty for the things they have done to each other. And since he's sitting next to one of the only people who could ever know the real reason he feels like this way, he doesn't even have to lie.

"Things will never be how they were between us," acknowledges Nate.

"My intention coming here wasn't so we could be best friends again," answers Chuck, his eyes suspiciously fill with light, that Nate wishes he could go back a couple of years to New York and do everything differently.

Nate leans back and gazes up at the dark, overcast night sky and instantly sees an odd look cross Chuck's face, sort of a cross between nervousness, anticipation, and perhaps a little fear.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"

The fact that Chuck's displaying these characteristics here, when its late and it's just the two of them, makes Nate want to run as fast as he can over to the shore and into the water before he's thrown back into the tailspin he has thought he escaped long ago.

Because Nate recognizes Chuck's look and he knows where it leads.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Blair's voice is something Nate would know anywhere. It thumps through his body, a continuous vibration he knows in more detail than his own reflection. Even when she's silent, standing next to him inside the elevator to her penthouse, it's still here and _she's_ still here.

When the doors open Blair files out none too excitedly and Nate's mouth dries because Blair's likely expecting him to leave.

However, she doesn't quite say anything and her lack of parting words triggers his erratically beating heart as it plummets through his feet.

Footsteps on the hardwood floor draw their attention as Chuck turns the corner and comes into view.

Before him now is a man, in bones and flesh, still the Chuck Nate has grown up with his whole life, but no longer a Chuck he's ever known.

"What are you doing here?"

There's no specification in his words. But Chuck doesn't have to direct them at Nate to know that they are meant for him. The look on his face is enough.


	5. Chapter 4

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Four  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Chuck looks seriously pissed off; there is no other way to describe his fury. He stands before them, scowl on his face, radiating anger from the ends of his hair to his toes.

And the way Nate is so blatantly staring at Blair the entire time doesn't help to lighten the atmosphere.

The scowl darkens Chuck's face when he sees the way Nate's eyes won't leave her, and he crosses his arms in irritation. "I asked you a question."

I'm here because Blair didn't stop me; because she needs me to be here; because you're sick and I want to make sure you're okay; because I'm sorry.

"I asked him to drive me here," defends Blair, as she pushes her way past the both of them.

Chuck's eyes soften looking at Blair. And when he crosses the foyer and wraps Blair in a tight hug, a lump lodges in Nate's throat and leaves a funny aftertaste of remorse and envy.

It finally occurs to him that Chuck doesn't know where she's been for the past day and a half.

His eyes meet his. "Nate, why don't you come and sit?"

Blair stop dead in her tracks. Her fingers wind around something small in her hand, twisting and turning the item as if she needs strength. And when she looks back over her shoulder at Nate, he wishes he could give her some.

"I…I actually have to get going. But Blair, she umm...she told me about your...," he looks down at his shoes hesitantly before walking swiftly back into the elevator, "I have to go."

The soft lighting in the foyer catches Blair's features from afar and makes her watery smile sparkle. One tiny hand works its way through her long hair exasperatedly, while the other remains by her side, a red ruby fixture finds its way into his view, and Nate can almost feel the press of the gold band as if it were on his own skin.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

The first thing Nate is aware of when he wakes up is the smell of Blair all around him. It's no surprise, considering that she has been draped over him all night. He rolls over, his arm stretching to the other side of the bed, but when he's met with emptiness, he fully opens his eyes and surveys his surroundings.

There are mysterious sounds coming from his closet – hangers sliding back and forth across the rails, and bags and boxes being opened.

Nate breathes in deep, sits up in bed and stifles a yawn as he calls out Blair's name.

The noises stop instantly, and Blair quickly emerges through the closet doors, dressed in her clothes from the previous evening, looking disheveled and extremely upset.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Chuck barges into their room while she changes that night.

Blair doesn't understand, for the very first time, how he doesn't see her heart nearly jump out of her chest, or the flush that rises up her neck.

She is expecting him to demand where she has been, and why she turns up at their apartment with Nate, of all people she can run off and come home with.

Instead, Chuck's eyes widen and he begins to stutter something, but she can't hear, and when he promptly turns around and slips out of the room, Blair forces herself to believe that all of this is just a dream and that when she gets up tomorrow, he'll talk to her.

She stands there and she shakes – her breath shudders inside her chest and she wants it to stop.

Chuck doesn't come back into the bedroom until after she's turned off the lights, until enough time has passed for her to fall asleep. But she doesn't. Blair lies there, away from him, feeling his eyes heavy on the back of her head and the line of her curves underneath the sheets.

He's resting only a foot away, motionless, and she wonders if he knows she has been with Nate and that she has told him about his condition herself. And if he does, she wonders if Chuck will forgive her.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

"Where is it? Where's the sweater?"

Rather than replying, Nate just walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He blows out a heavy stream of air he has been holding in. It comes out shaky and nervous and it almost hurts him to the core. Nate rubs a hand over his face and prepares to get ready to face her again as he opens the bathroom door with a bang and startles Blair as she hears it.

Nate gets a little scared because fuck, how dare she have the audacity to ask where it is when she hasn't seen or questioned for the sweater in years. _Years_.

"I don't have it," he says, quickly beginning to stumble over his sentence, "I mean, it's not...here. It's in...it's at home."

Her face flushes into a deep, angry colour as Blair jerks away from his gaze and rushes to collect her things from his nightstand.

"I thought this was your home." Blair spits the words out as if they taste vulgar.

Nate is certain that she thinks he's lying, but he doesn't understand why this is causing her such a problem. The reason he had left the moss green sweater at home last summer is because he had been trying to move on with Bree.

But he knows that he can never get rid of it – even if he tries.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

The next few weeks pass in a dizzy blur. Nate quietly takes Chuck from hospital to hospital, trying to hear a different answer than the one they all know. Serena comes along at times too, accompanied by Eric, Jenny and Lily, but Blair is present at every visit because she's trying to spend as much time with Chuck before he... – well, she just doesn't want to leave his side or be alone.

All the doctors blend together and all the hospitals look the same, but Nate is adamant for some suspicious reason that Blair is secretly trying to determine. And every morning starts to become less welcoming, and it's unbearable when she has to get out of bed and watch her summer pass by.

When she looks at Chuck, and _really_ looks at him, Blair sees how his haunting expression never ruptures when they are given the same response over and over again, specialist after specialist. And Blair can't stand the fact that he's so shatterproof as he follows Nate, humoring him, while the world seems like it's coming apart around her.

And Nate, _Christ_. Most times he looks so resigned that she just wants to scream at him until her voice runs out.

She and Nate sit on the uncomfortable chairs they have gotten used to, while Chuck is another room being examined. Today Blair is irritably restless, constantly fiddling with her hair and clothing and she's waiting for Nate to tell her to stop and calm down.

"I want to go home," she says suddenly, realizing how mentally exhausted she actually is.

Nate looks at the door and back at Blair and she can see him take a gulp as he swallows hard. "Okay."

She's surprised how easily he has given in, but before she can voice her opinion out loud, Chuck comes out and approaches them.

He glances at Nate, and then at her. "They're putting me on experimental medication."

She's not positive what this means since Chuck's voice is weak and she can only think about how tired he must be.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

"This isn't my home. I stay here because it's close to school," he points out, "I thought you knew that."

Nate expects her to be angry and lash out at him, maybe prove him wrong and explain all this nonsense she has started by rummaging through his closet.

So what if he doesn't have the sweater with him? They certainly aren't in any position to have it out in the open anyway.

Blair looks at him blankly, perhaps even a little unsure, as she stands and drops her bag, making small movements like she's second guessing what she's about to do.

Nate doesn't know what she's going to do and therefore, doesn't know how to react. So he simply watches her, unprepared and statue still, as she wrenches her hands and searches his face.

When Blair finally acts and pulls his face down to hers and kisses him like she needs him more than oxygen, he's too taken aback to react. And as she winds her arms around his neck and presses herself into him, he can feel the tension leave their bodies momentarily.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Late November Chuck decides to get treatment, Nate and is not sure if Chuck really wants it, or if Blair really wants it.

Serena comes with Carter for Chuck's final examination before his chemo treatment and Nate is surprised to see him. Between all the hospitals and doctors and classes at Columbia, he has forgotten that Carter is dating her. Blair goes to talk to Serena in the waiting room while Nate stays back and loiters around the door, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

Carter chatters and taunts about nothing significant and even though Nate thinks it's likely because Carter has no clue what to do, he gets exceedingly agitated. It feels like a century since he has heard someone talk about something other than cancer and chemotherapy and trial drugs, that the weather and sports seem so superficial.

Nate sighs and glances out of the corner of his eye at Blair, and feels himself deflate immediately.

She looks so lifeless, as if sorrow has been stitched into every fiber of her being, and it looks as though Blair is starting to get cabin fever from spending most of her time in the hospital.

He considers suggesting to her that maybe she shouldn't be pessimistic. Maybe if she waits a little longer things will be okay. They have to be.

Eventually everyone leaves for the night, and Chuck is admitted into a room to sleep before his treatment commences next morning, leaving only Nate and Blair and a few other late visitors.

He stands next to her tentatively inside the front of the hospital doors. It's freezing outside, and an equally cold shiver runs down Nate's spine when he realizes that the way things are going for Blair, her entire life will start surrounding itself around Chuck's sickness.

"Do you want to go to The Modern?" Nate asks as he buttons up his coat and watches his car turn the corner.

Blair shrugs her shoulders and he takes it as a yes.

Nate remembers the first time he had came to the restaurant with her when they were young. He recalls the feeling of her tiny hand in his when she had led him through the caramel and white painted walls, lights shining on her face, and swirls of people floating around them.

Blinking away the memory, he orders himself a Long Island Iced Tea while Blair silently scans the dessert menu.

He wishes she would smile or say something, just so he'd be reassured that everything he is doing, including everything he has done since his return from Connecticut, has been for her.

"I like your dress." Nate comments abruptly, wincing in embarrassment at how random and surreal his statement sounds.

Her eyes flicker towards him and she replies as her fingers gently trail over the deep lavender fabric. "Thanks."

And when her brown eyes wander back to the menu in front of her, it's as though they encounter something that triggers the air around Blair to heat up. She covers her mouth with her hands and rubs a couple of tears from her eyes, whilst Nate gulps down the rest of his drink.

"I don't want to go home," she mumbles hoarsely, "I really don't."

"You don't have to," he says.

"Then where will I sleep?" Blair asks, clearly amused as the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly.

"You can stay at my apartment – with me."

Nate doesn't mean that in the way it comes out. But he is so relaxed at the moment because it's just him and Blair, the first time since the summer night on the deck of his boat, that it all somehow comes out a little suggestive.

Blair stops smiling and her eyes widen slowly. She looks at him, face etched with concern and then contemplation. And God help him, Nate knows he's a fool for not seeing it sooner.

"Really?"

"Yeah." _Anything for you._

–

He's not entirely sure what he anticipates to happen when they reach the door, but Blair walking in and running into his bedroom with quick strides in her tall shoes like she's on fire certainly isn't it.

Just as quietly, Nate walks throughout his apartment, putting away his coat and house keys, and his heart starts to hammer against his ribs.

It's only when he's walking past his room does he risk a glance at Blair once the sound of her heels clacking along the hardwood floor reach his ears. He finds her standing beside the nightstand on the far side of his bed, back facing him, removing her small earrings and headband. The sight forces him pause and watch her dark hair obscure a portion of her purple dress. She kicks away her shoes, and sits on the bed, clutching the edge of it with her hands.

Nate doesn't realize how long he has been standing there until Blair finally notices his presence, turns her head and her eyes meet his.

He looks away, his cheeks flaming at being caught staring at her. But when he looks back at Blair and sees her exterior crumple, he feels something, apart from the alcohol, churn inside his stomach.

Blair doesn't flinch when he comes in and perches himself next to her. When she doesn't say anything, and continues to sob, Nate gingerly places a hand on her back and gazes at her bewildered wet eyes search his. That's when he knows that he needs to give her time to process her thoughts.

And instead of leaving the room like his guts tell him he should, Nate lets go and lays on the bed sheets, falling back and staring overhead, just like he did those many nights ago on the Charlotte.

"If I hadn't been too preoccupied getting revenge on Georgina, and trying to befriend everyone at NYU," her voice comes out tiny, even though she's less than a foot from him, "then I would have noticed Chuck's headaches much sooner."

"What's happened – _happening_ – to Chuck isn't you fault." Nate assures her, whilst wondering what would have happened if he hadn't scurried away to Bridgeport and stayed here.

"Then why does it feel like it is."

"Because you're being hard on yourself."

Blair turns around, no longer teary, and studies him for a few moments, everything from the crease in his forehead to the hands folded under his head.

And Nate stares at her right back, looking at the sharp open wonderment on her face and all of a sudden feels himself crash face-first in the center of hopelessly enamored.

That's why as Blair crawls up next to him, brown eyes looking down at him with nothing but adoration and perhaps even longing, he doesn't stop her.

And when her fingers find their way to his collar, the pieces of the puzzle align right before him, and his subconscious jumps to life when she pulls his head up to hers.

–

_I thought of you and where you'd gone, and the world spins madly on. _


	6. Chapter 5

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Six  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

The sun starts to spill into the living room during early hours of the next morning. Nate groans and rolls over to bury his head into a throw pillow.

It seems like it will be a nice, normal day, but Nate knows, as he lays facing the backside of the couch, that his entire world had shifted last night.

Suddenly, his mind starts to spin a million miles an hour and he isn't sure which way is up or down. All he remembers right now is that there had been some fabulous making out that occurred on his bed. And then at one point it had gotten quiet and Blair had asked what this all meant and Nate quietly replied that he had no idea.

That happened to be the extent of his analysis.

At around eleven, he had bid Blair goodnight and left the room, making his way to this very couch to think about things. Of course, it's not like Nate would have actually thought about much considering how tired he was.

And what had been there to think of? Did he regret any of it?

Nate isn't usually a guy to analyze situations, but this definitely feels like something worth analyzing.

Down the hall, his bedroom door creaks open and Blair's quiet footsteps can be heard paddling their way closer towards him.

"Good morning," she greets as she emerges from behind the corner.

"It's too early to be morning," yawns Nate, as he scratches the back of his head and takes note of how tidy Blair looks. She must have spent time fixing her hair and washing herself before coming out.

Blair laughs at his comment, and he can't help but smile because _God_, it feels nice to hear her sound at least a little bit happy.

He takes his end of the blanket and tosses it over her head as she approaches him. Nate wavers slightly once he stands, feeling the effect of his drinks from the previous night. His insides feel queasy. He figures it's half about the hangover and half about the aftershock from the fact that Blair had kissed him. And yeah, he had kissed her back.

Nate's not sure if she even remembers. By the looks of things, Blair had seemed more than a little lucid when it took place, plus she hadn't even drank a sip of alcohol. So really, whatever she remembers may not involve him.

When he returns from brushing his teeth, Blair is already in the kitchen, ransacking the cupboards and refrigerator.

"Hey, do you have any danishes?"

"Um..." Can she see him sweating? "I think there's some over on that counter."

Nate goes over to the other side of the brightly lit room, pulls the coffee pot and a mug, and pours a cup he hopes will make his headache dissipate.

The mug is halfway to his lips when Blair's arm breezes to him and takes it out of his hand. She settles onto one of the stools on the other side of the island, takes a sip, makes a disgusted face at the cup, and begins to pelt sugar into the mug.

Only Blair could ever show up at his apartment after so long and act like she's been here her whole life.

"I never thought you'd be a morning coffee drinker," says Blair as she munches soundlessly on her danish.

"Well morning lectures can make anyone susceptible to coffee," he replies, pouring himself another cup.

An awkward silence falls over them, as Blair eats her danish and Nate drinks from his mug.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

His world has begun to spin itself on an axis Blair has built, nothing the way it had been like before, but similar enough as how it had used to be, so that all the bleakness he has been carrying around with him has melted away.

Nate doesn't even realize that his shirt is gone until Blair's warm fingers start to drag over his shoulders and down his chest, and fuck, is she moaning? The noise comes from her throat, and makes Nate feel it through ever point of contact between their bodies, over and over again.

Then Blair's hand trails to his waistband and immediately the inner panic button inside his head goes off.

In all honesty, Nate believes that there will be untold amount of guilt if he and Blair were ever to end up going all the way and crossing the final boundary that would incriminate to their … well, whatever they are.

But here they are, not going all the way, and haven't gone all the way since before prom, and Nate realizes that it can't make much of a comparison to anything. It's ironic, because he loves kissing Blair, but he doesn't want to claim her away from Chuck.

And Nate knows that it doesn't make a difference, because what he is doing is no better than what Chuck has done to him, but at least it isn't the same thing.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

When Nate goes to take a shower, it dawns on Blair that she's momentarily alone in his apartment, and the temptation is too much for her to resist.

She's already in the kitchen, so she starts there and simply eyes the location, trying to gleam a little insight into the boy it feels like she doesn't know anymore.

The living room looks comfy and emphatically _lived in_, a questionable number of books are on the shelves and the coffee table is stacked with sports magazines. A couple of team photos and nearly a dozen lacrosse trophies are places on the mantle in a careless pattern that makes too much sense to her, but that isn't surprising.

Blair smiles a little, because it feels like she's getting to know Nate all over again, as if she has never forgotten him.

And then her eyes travel down the hallway floor and she follows the line down to the end where Nate's bedroom is.

Her stomach clenches.

It's peculiar because she has spent the entire night in that room, a fraction of it with Nate, and then she had all that time in the morning to notice the small things in it, but she hadn't.

Her feet take her back inside, where the soft shades of blue and gray and white remind Blair so much of Nate's room at his parent's.

The sound of water drizzling in the shower next door stops, and reality kicks in and the full weight of what she's doing, even though it looks entirely harmless, springs forth.

And fairly, this is it, Blair thinks as the air around her seems to thicken. This is the moment that the actions of last night accumulate to, although she's been waiting for it a lot longer.

This is a moment of clarity, so severe and real, that her heart rate increases significantly just thinking about it.

A year and a half of pondering and neglect, of leaving and repent, and Blair Waldorf is certain that she is still harboring a deep affection for Nate that she had though she let go of.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

"Whoa."

Blair's startled eyes meet his when he takes a hold of her wrist. She pulls herself away from him, unknowingly giving him the much needed space he needs to think.

His reaction isn't immediate because it's taking a lot longer for his brain to register what is really going on here and if he is really seeing what he thinks he's seeing. But he snaps back into focus when Blair starts to strip off her sweater.

"Blair, stop." Nate nearly pleads, and wouldn't his sixteen-year old self get a kick in the pants if he were to find out he'd ever have stop Blair from taking her clothes off in front of him.

Blair frowns and takes a step back, her face contorting into a wounded expressing that breaks his heart into a million pieces.

He reaches to take her hands in his before he continues, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't," she scoffs, forcefully yanking her hands free from his grasp and turning away from him.

"It's not that I don't want to," says Nate, speaking softly. He hopes she can hear him. "We've been so careful about all _this_ and I guess we got carried away. I just feel like we were kind of doing it to prove a point."

Blair turns around, eyes wide with agreement as she moves to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest. His own arms move to encircle her instinctively.

She mumbles an apology into his skin, and Nate is careful not to let her know how much this has affected him. Because if they ever go there, he wants it to be right, with no regrets tainting any of it.

He knows he owes her that.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Taking a shower is kind of a getaway to taking time off of everything and being left alone with his thoughts. And that may have not been the best idea, because Nate is finding that they are gradually driving him insane.

At least the water had helped to clear up his muddled head a bit, or maybe it didn't, for when Nate comes out of the bathroom and the clock flashes 8 o'clock, he finds Blair sitting on the couch, staring blankly ahead.

"I missed you a lot this year, Nate," she says as he nears the living room, "I guess I never did anything because I was afraid of what would happen if I saw you again, or of what Chuck would think...– "

He cuts her off by sitting in front of her on the living room rug, realizing how her words are driving the whole situation home in a way that is totally different than anything else.

"I know. I was too." Nate smiles weakly, hoping it will convey his feelings better than his words can. "Why else do you think I don't spend much time with him anymore?"

A new expression crosses Blair's face. Not the sadness or the emptiness he has just witnessed, but something else. Something splashed with bitterness and contempt – all directed at Nate.

"Is it the same reason you haven't spoken to me since prom?"

For the past few months he has forgotten the reasons for cutting ties with Blair, but now they jolt through him, tingling his nerves and making their existence known.

There is nothing malice behind it. Nate had tried to avoid her, and he imagined the same could be said for her, taking Blair's silence before the day she came to him in Connecticut, to be a confirmation. Nate thought that there had been nothing to be said. Or maybe there was too much that had occurred and neither one of them had the desire or strength to broach such a painful subject such as their break up.

Or it could be that his pain had taken advantage of him and he just could never bare to face her.

He sees Blair's face harden when she doesn't receive a response from him. Therefore, Nate thinks, she shifts, stretching herself out as much as she can, so that under no circumstances can he sit on the couch next to her.

"Everything that happened between us..." Blair's voice trails off into a deep sigh. "Do you blame me?"

A heartbeat passes before Nate answers, "I used to."

"And now?" She presses the matter, her voice instantly turns raspy and cracks with emotion, and it frankly makes his ears hurt.

There aren't words to describe what it's doing to his heart.

He turns his face to look at her. "I blame myself."

"Why?"

Her stare grazes over him like she's removing the layers he is hiding himself underneath.

"I don't know. I used to blame you because I thought that if _you_ had told me the truth about Chuck in the first place, it never would have happened. And then I thought that if you hadn't led me on the last time then..." Nate shrugs. "Honestly, I hate myself for thinking that because I could have stopped all of it from happening and I didn't."

And now that she isn't needling him for any more answers, he kisses her with everything he has and there goes that beating inside his chest again. Tangling a hand in her hair, Nate tilts her head to the side, getting an angle that lets him deepen the kiss, as the other hand slides up the silk lines of her curves.

Maybe it is as wrong as they both know it to be, but she is kissing him back and granted that even if he wants to turn back, how the hell are they supposed to now?

That's the moment something not from his head, or his heart, but from somewhere a voice reminds him that, hello, this is not your girlfriend, and excuse you, she is with _Chuck_, the man who is starting treatment today. And Nate is about to tell Blair that, really he is, but when he feels her fingers land on his chest, her hand warm against his rapid beating heart, it is enough for him to forget all the past hurt and the could have beens.

He tells the voice to shut up for a while.

–


	7. Chapter 6

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Six  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Later, as they ride to the hospital in the back of a cab, Blair can't shake off the jittery feeling of last night and the actions that had taken place in the morning.

It haunts her like the vestiges of a dream, not really a nightmare, but something that completely resembles a close memory. It replays in her subconscious in vivid detail, unbidden, at times whenever her leg accidentally brushes Nate's, or when her fingertips lightly dawdle over her lips.

When her cell rings, she is momentarily relieved. She searches through her purse to find it.

Serena's name flashes on the screen, and Blair's insides harden at the thought of what could happen if her best friend were to find out who she is with and how she has spent her last twelve hours. Blair refuses to even entertain imagining what Chuck will think, because that will only amount to that sickening, white hot burning in her chest, something she will most likely classify as shame.

Then why did she kiss Nate in the first place?

Blair doesn't give herself the chance the retaliate against her conscience. Instead she answers her phone. "Hey, S."

"Carter broke up with me." Serena says out of nowhere, her voice slightly distant and groggy.

Blair isn't surprised. Carter unquestionably has the nerve to leave Serena when her step-brother is dying. The only thing that _is_ appalling is that Carter hadn't done it sooner.

"He said that he understood I was upset about what's happening to Chuck, but he couldn't have a relationship with someone who spent all their time at a hospital."

"I'm sorry, Serena," replies Blair, even though she's not certain if she means it or not. She catches Nate's concerned look at the sound of her best friend's name, and quickly turns away to look out the taxi window.

"It's not big deal, I guess," her friend replies, "I can't remember the last time I talked to him about anything that mattered."

Blair nods her head, realizes that Serena can't see her, so she stops. She ignores the fact that the same thing could be said about her and Chuck.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

The first time Blair had seen Nate and noticed him as more than just another boy in the school yard, she thought he was beautiful. He had been all golden brown hair and slow smiles and shy eyes.

And she had wanted Nate to see her too; see her for more than just nice frocks and delicate brown curls. Blair had wanted him to see her dimples and her giggle, and the moment his blue eyes had landed on her, she wanted him to see her heart.

Blair decides she wants him to have it when he kisses her for the first time, because that kiss meant something big and utterly surreal.

A kiss is always supposed to mean something. That one means something too. That one, impulsive, sloppy kiss Blair had given Nate in his bedroom last year, it meant something.

Maybe it had been a thank you, or it somehow resembled the finality, the_ closure_, they had never achieved. Or perhaps the silence had just gotten too suffocating. Whatever it had meant at that time, it couldn't have been anything more.

But sometimes, late at night, when she is lying against the soft white linen sheets, Blair can still taste him – sweet liquor mingling with mint toothpaste. Sometimes she wishes that kiss had meant something else.

But only sometimes.

–

_New York, New York, 2010_

Moments before they step into Chuck's hospital room, something stirs in the pit of Nate's stomach, a foreign mantra drilling itself into his guts, followed by disinterest, and denial and then coldness. The guilt has yet to come, and Nate doubts it ever will because he has no shame for kissing Blair.

And yes, that makes him a shitty person.

However, all of his inner thoughts instantly disappear, and he stops dead in his tracks as he opens the hospital room door, and Jack Bass comes into view.

Suddenly he feels nauseous.

Next to him, Blair sucks in a breath, and Nate can see her try to remain levelheaded through the glare induced by too much annoyance and not enough common sense.

Nate knows that she's startled and perhaps even a little afraid, because Blair has been here before, between the crossfire of two different men. Three, if Blair can remember to count him as well.

The morning is no longer questionable. Blair, nor Chuck, look as if they are perspicuous and no longer have that one common goal of getting through the day. Instead, she looks lost, and Nate is sure if someone doesn't say anything soon, then, well, God help them all.

"Blair, how nice to see you." Jack drawls, eyes shinning from the sunlight coming in through the large windows.

Chuck beckons her over to his side and she quickly obliges. Nate looks down at his hand that had also been outstretched in Blair's direction. He hadn't even felt it move, but chooses not to dwell into that issue and focuses rather on the situation before him. He promptly pulls it behind his back, hoping no one had noticed it.

Of course, Jack had seen it. The man studies him, almost as if he's contemplating how to make Nate even more uncomfortable than he already is. A second later, a wink creeps onto his face.

Nate doesn't know what it is about Jack Bass, but he's seriously starting to piss him off.

"The doctors postponed my treatment till the end of the week. They said there were a couple of more tests they wanted to do," informs Chuck.

Jack replies by saying something witty about the health care system, and then talks about a business meeting he must attend, so he won't be in New York after tomorrow. Then he leaves.

A collective sigh of relief sweeps the room.

Blair and Chuck begin speaking in small voices as she hesitantly settles into the chair next to the bed. Her hand reaches out to caress his arm and Chuck's eyes keep lingering to where Nate is. He stares at him, trying to figure him out, and Nate has the sinking realization that he's overstepped some unknown boundary.

He looks down at his wrist, checks the time, recalls that he has a class starting in a couple of hours, and slips out of the room.

–

"I... I'm not sick anymore."

Something opens up inside Nate, something vast and shapeless and empty. He decides to call it happiness.

"What?" Nate asks, flabbergasted.

"The trail medication, it,_ they_," Chuck adds with unneeded emphasis, "worked. The last few tests the doctors wanted to do when I was supposed to start chemo ... they found out that I may have actually beaten this thing."

What the hell?

Blair is across the hospital room from Nate, suddenly latched onto Chuck, but Nate can still see every detail of her face. Every line and curve of her features combine to create that heady, exciting swirling that she's been missing for the past couple of months.

Something that couldn't be connected to him.

Blair's eyes flick towards him, her smile spreads a little wider, and Nate doesn't know why. And for a second, it infuriates him that she can look at him, look him in the eye, and not know of all these conflicting thoughts are running through him.

She's supposed to be the smart one.

Nate doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to deal with whatever is going on around him. Focusing these thoughts on Chuck, and trying to conjure up something coherent and appropriate to say, well, it isn't helping to make things any clearer.

It's not Chuck's fault. Nate just wants to blame him because it's Chuck, and because he can, and because there had been a number of things Nate had the chance to blame on the man, but never did. Fuck, Chuck is _healthy _again. So why is it taking Nate so long to congratulate him?

When Chuck tugs at Blair's necklace, enough for him to pull her head towards his, Nate knows why.

He stops trying to determine what to say. Heat floods his head, and a new batch of uncertain thoughts scatter his brain.

_This wasn't supposed to happen_ – the truth leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He can't deal with this, he doesn't really want to _have_ to deal with this. Words cannot describe how much he has wished he never had to be in this situation again.

At least he can comfort himself that since no one else knows, he can put it off.

For now, denial works just fine for Nate.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

"_Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?" _

Nate can think of many wavering serious responses that really will not help, and it's only the burn in his chest that forces him to breathe again.

It all begins to snowball when Chuck reaches into his pocket and takes out a cigarette and lighter, a pained expression on his face. And like a punch to the stomach, it hits Nate that he's the only one who has made the connection. He is the only one who knows, as of the moment.

As Chuck takes a long drag, the knowledge feels like it's pulling something from inside Nate, drawing an ache from the pit of his soul that is suddenly crashing down on top of him. Unlike last time, the focus is all on him. Not on him trying to protect someone else.

"That'll kill you," says Nate, gesturing to the cigarette.

Chuck's breathing turns into a surge of staggered inhales and exhales.

Nate wonders what he is thinking about right now. That alone should terrify him because Chuck has always held back on expressing feelings, so Nate shouldn't really care.

"Not before the cancer does," he shrugs forcefully, drops the lit cigarette to the porch ground and jams it with his shoe, "now you know that it is going to get to me first."

When Chuck walks back inside and heads to bed for the night, it is only then does Nate feel the whole weight of the situation. Because ultimately, life is crushing Chuck underneath the heel of it's foot like a half-smoked cigarette.

It hadn't made a difference a couple years ago, but Nate doesn't dare to say it out loud in fear that it will make it real this time.

–


	8. Chapter 7

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Seven  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Nate smells the same. Blair remembers this as she walks by him, exiting the hospital room to take her final exam before Christmas break, relieved of the good news.

She can smell Nate's sandalwood soap, and the slight scent of mint toothpaste and that cologne he always wears. Maybe even a little trace of pot.

Blair subconsciously steps closer to him and feels the suspicious glance from her boyfriend land on her. Her back instantly tenses, and when she turns around to utter a goodbye, Chuck doesn't meet her eyes. But that's fine, Blair tells herself, because she does not dare to meet his either.

The candid realization falls in front of Chuck, his jaw clenches and his mind is suddenly remembering. She leaves before her heart starts to thud painfully and drop into her stomach. She knows precisely what he is recalling.

He's remembering a time when Nate proclaimed his undying love for her. When he'd found Blair in the Vanderbilt's balcony, when he'd said he didn't want her_ that_ way, but in the way she'd wanted him all along, when Blair had been the one standing next to him at prom, when Nate's eyes had told her he was the only guy for her as she was breaking up with him. Although no one else seems to remember Nate is her ex-boyfriend, her first love, Chuck remembers.

Blair remembers too.

Nate's scent still lingers over her long after she has left.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

Nate tosses and turns in his bed that night, regretting his decision to even sleep in the first place. He can't help but remember his bed in his Murray Hill apartment, how sturdy and well, _sleepable_ it is, and how it's been that way ever since Blair had spent that one night in it.

His eyes immediately burst open at the memory as he thinks of the last time she'd been at his apartment; when everything blew up, when their fragile friendship had fell apart, and that look on Blair's face he still can't understand and has never forgotten.

A few hours later, during the early hours of morning, he sits with Chuck on the back porch steps. He learns that Chuck had restructured certain portions of Bass Industries since he'd seen him last.

"No joke?" Nate asks, as he gets a good laugh at the image of Chuck ruling the company just like his father would have.

The pain is still there though. That raw, hard throbbing that had established itself in the very depth of his gut three years ago. Except now, something else begins to take its place. Something hot and flaming.

Something like worry and shame.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

"You're a dick."

Nate nearly drops the textbook he has been reading onto the floor. Today, Chuck is discharged from the hospital, so he is expecting some sort of celebration to arise, but suddenly nothing feels like worth celebrating.

"What are you talking about?" Nate half smiles, confused.

Chuck doesn't smile back, nor does he really reply, except to say, "I know what you did with Blair."

The golden haired boy frowns immediately, his charade has been discovered. He can't deny what has happened between him and Blair, and what else can he say anyway?

Nate busies himself with opening his bag and putting his books and papers away, hoping Chuck will not say anything further and let him leave without anymore grief. But he knows that Chuck is merely waiting for him to say something first before he strikes with his own bitter words.

Chuck looks like a ticking bomb about to go off, so Nate is afraid to ask him what he expects him to say. When he gets up from near windowsill, Chuck stops waiting and instead of anticipating what he'll spit at him, Nate speaks.

"Okay," he breathes out, as he bites his lip and sees the determination and anger cascade on the other man's face.

"I'm going to ask you this one time, and I know you owe me an honest answer," says Chuck, as he collects his belongings, his eyes narrow threateningly.

Chuck's glare is penetrating and despite feeling like he does not owe him anything, Nate finds himself nodding.

"Why'd you do it? Didn't you think I deserve better, I'm your friend." Chuck asks, his tone a little too desperate. "I was _dying_, Nate"

Nate almost wants to laugh because somewhere in his question lies the answer. But he can't say that because he is the one who promised Blair nothing would change between him and Chuck.

Or at least, he thinks so.

He hesitates, but decides that if he does lie, Chuck will definitely think Nate is the scum that he thinks he is.

"I don't know." Nate shrugs, frustrated beyond belief because he cannot bring himself to look at Chuck.

"I think you know exactly why," grunts Chuck.

His arrogant tone sparks something primitive inside him, a self defense mechanism that Nate had never known he possessed.

"Oh yeah? Well why don't you enlighten me, because I sure as hell don't know why I'd kiss Blair considering how I still feel about her. You're the only person that could ever understand – "

"You told me to man up, Nate!" He interrupts, dropping his things on the hospital bed.. "So I did and Blair realized who she was supposed to be with. Then she got upset and you took advantage of her vulnerability."

Nate is clueless to where Chuck and Blair's relationship stands at this point. Even a little more clueless as to what the other man truly thinks he did with his girlfriend, but Nate doesn't push it. Chuck may not have Blair now, but in a few weeks, when all this gets old, no matter what he says, Chuck will have her back.

"Blair moved on, and it's about fucking time you do too." Clearly Chuck's anger is beginning to dissipate, and his tone softens like his voice is about to break. "I don't care if it happened once, or twice, or ten times. Just go back to Columbia, and go back to rarely being around either of us, and go back to staying away from her."

It feels so ridiculously painful to hear Chuck say he wants Nate away from Blair, not because it's his honest opinion, but because it makes Nate's heart even heavier. He's been selfish all this time, focusing on Blair's feelings rather than being there for Chuck like he should have been.

"Merry Christmas, Chuck," says Nate as he takes his book bag and exits the room.

It's not until he trudges through the cold snow, and comes homes to an empty apartment, does Nate finally acknowledge that tiny voice inside him, the one that had told him all this would happen.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

"I wish you'd stay a little longer," comments Nate, as he and Chuck watch the driver load the bags into the back of the limousine.

"I have to get back to the real world," replies Chuck, climbing down the stone steps in front of the beach house, "not all of us can hide out here and run away from our problems."

Nate knows he should be offended, however all he can do it smile.

"You going back to New York?"

"Hong Kong, actually." Chuck answers, already beside the limo door.

He doesn't know what's going to happen now, or what all this means. All that Nate does understand is that he'll have to return to Manhattan soon, for more reasons than one now that he thinks about it.

Knots twist themselves into the lining of his stomach, tightening and burning.

"Are you sure you don't know where Blair is?" Nate impulsively calls out to the other man.

Chuck twists and squints up to look at him. "If I did, would I be here?"

They laugh, like two old friends reunited after decades apart, but the bile rises so quickly up his throat that if Chuck doesn't leave this instant, Nate is going to be forced to throw up right in front of him.

The minute he hears the screeching of the limousine tires fade away down the road, Nate throws open the front door and dashes into the bathroom just off the hallway, sinking to the cold tile floor and emptying what feels to be the entirety of everything he has eaten in a month.

He sits back against the wall with his head tipped up to the ceiling and presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, trying to halt the pressure building up behind them.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Everything clicks into place like clockwork, like the metal teeth of a gear winding into place when Chuck comes home from the hospital.

Blair looks into the face of a man she barely knows, once a man she knew better than most others. And she knows that this is Chuck Bass, and that he loves her in every way he's supposed to, but she is fully aware that he is going to say something that will fully tip the scales.

"Blair, you don't have to hide it from me anymore," he says hastily, taking a seat on the plush sofa across from her, "I know what you did with Nate wasn't right, and you're probably beating yourself about it, but I want you to know that it's okay – "

She feels it, the vibration from Chuck's skin transferring over the glass coffee table, and into hers.

"Chuck, what are you talking about?"

"You and Nate, you guys.." Chuck has a difficult time explaining. "It doesn't matter. I love you, and I already told Nate to leave us alone."

"It was just a kiss!" She nearly panics, ready to set things in their correct order. She can't believe Nate would leave the conversation to that.

Wait, _what_?

"You told him to leave us alone?" Blair questions, alarmed. Her head instantly turns to catch sight of a dark purple dress laid over the back of her vanity chair, a reminder of what had led her here now.

And suddenly she's swimming in memories of the deck on the Charlotte, the soft music echoing inside the cream coloured walls of the Modern, and then inside Nate's room, then couch, his lips on hers.

"Of course I did." Chuck sits up, articulating his words with more confidence. "I'm thinking of what's best for you."

For some reason that stings more that she thought words ever could.

Blair shimmies away from his gaze, moving further down the couch as if she's just touched fire. She watches him, studies him, uses her sharp eye to notice all the sudden changes in Chuck ever since he had emerged from the hospital; the slight widening of his shoulders, the faint darkness under his eyes now a little brighter, how he still looks so tired.

She ponders if Chuck knows what exactly she's thinking, because for Christ's sake, how can he dictate what is best for her, how has she let herself fall into this pattern in the first place_._

The edges of Blair's consciousness grow hazy to the point where the pieces in her mind don't fit. They gradually begin to disperse, changing rhythm and falling back into an old one, a pulse, and everything else begins to fade into a white noise.

"_You don't belong with Nate, never have, never will."_

"_I chased you for long enough, now it's time you chase me."_

"_Stop trying to play wife."_

If Blair didn't know any better, she wouldn't be able to recognize the man sitting less than ten feet away from her. Right now, Chuck looks entirely like someone else.

She hears him groan as she shakes her head to stir the days old cobwebs, uncertain of what to do with this blunt, painful hit of nostalgia.

Blair looks at Chuck, wearing his neatly pressed dress shirt and slacks, and he instantaneously looks like her boyfriend again.

But nothing more.

–


	9. Chapter 8

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Eight  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

Things return to normal as if a spring snapping back into place. Christmas flies by, and Nate doesn't talk about what happened at the hospital with Chuck to Blair.

Honestly, he's trying to avoid her, because he feels something deep towards Blair, but she's already in love with Chuck.

Nate knows that he can imagine, and want these facts to not be true, but they are. He won't wake up with dark hair and a penchant for witty bantering and perversive thoughts. And he probably won't have Blair again.

This understanding haunts him during New Year's Evening, as he leans on the couch and watches crowds of NYU students stream in and out of the Humphrey loft, a good three hours before the next year rolls over.

Some obnoxious rap music is blaring from the stereo in the corner, and there's a girl repeatedly making moves on him while Nate's brushes her off as politely as he can. The entire loft is suffocating, and he might be developing claustrophobia from the massive throng of people.

And it doesn't look like Nate's night is going to get any easier, as he pretends he doesn't feel the tension in the room skyrocket when Blair enters behind Serena.

He instantly sits a little straighter, tries to appear as inconspicuous as possible whilst cursing himself for not realizing that she would come here.

From the small distance, Nate thinks Blair looks immaculate in her classic little black dress as she takes her coat off. He also thinks that she senses someone is staring at her, and she doesn't even need to scan the crowd for her eyes to lock onto him on the couch.

He waves slowly, then stuffs his hands into his pockets, at a loss of what else to do.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

"_...I guess we got carried away. I just feel like we were kind of doing it to prove a point."_

The New Year morning is suddenly no longer warm or intoxicating. Blair knows that she shouldn't have gone through Nate's closet without permission, and she definitely shouldn't have done it in order to find the green, cashmere sweater, because obviously it has aspired something nostalgic within him.

Nate doesn't look dreamy, like he just did when he had stopped Blair from seducing him and making a outright fool of herself. Now he actually seems lost.

Running her fingers through her long hair, Blair reaches into her clutch and locates her phone. There are almost a dozen missed phone calls from friends and family, wishing her a happy New Year. As she scrolls the list of incoming contacts, her insides thaw when she pauses to highlight Chuck's name.

The device swims in front of her vision of moment before Blair quickly throws her phone back into her purse and begins fixing her hair.

"You're leaving already?" Nate's voice comes from his bedroom door, small, uncertain.

She looks up. "Chuck is coming back this afternoon."

"Oh," is all he says, as he shifts his weight to his other foot.

Blair is aware that she's playing an unfair game of hot and cold with him, unable to make up her mind regarding him, and Nate, despite all his indiscretions, doesn't deserve it. After everything that's happened in the last half of the previous year, he'd revived his role as her constant, something he had always been.

And then she had to kiss him, and he had to fuck it all up by kissing her back.

Blair tries to concentrate on getting out of his apartment, and not the way it feels to be so near to him.

"Are you leaving because – " Nate begins, but she cuts him off.

"I told you already, okay? Chuck's flying in by one, sharp, and he expects me to be home."

She quickly brushes past him and abruptly turns down the hall and into the living room, with Nate following closely behind her.

"Why didn't you ever talk to me after we..." he hesitates, "broke up?"

Well, that is one question she is not expecting.

"Blair," prods Nate. And looking back, maybe this is how all of this began in the first place. A statement, a smile, some soothing words, and a bit of prodding.

She shuts her eyes as she nervously straps on her shoes, and takes a deep breathe, answers his question indirectly so that everything that's keeping her glued together won't fall apart. "I was hoping that if we just left it alone, then it'd go away."

After a few seconds of silence Blair wills herself to look at him, and gulps at the incredulous expression on Nate's face.

"How'd that work out for you?" Nate asks, his voice hard, humorless.

She feels the heat of her emotions burning through her like a raging fire. She wants to shrink away and hide back in her own apartment, the one she shares with Chuck, where it is safe, where she can bury herself in all things that don't revolve around Nate.

"Not well."

–

_New York, New York; 2010_

He watches her from the other side of the packed living room, as Blair sits with Serena, scrutinizing her surroundings.

Before Nate realizes what he's doing, his feet carry him towards them.

Serena is the first to notice him approaching. She quickly jumps from her seat and throws her arms around him, her voice booming as loud as the music, "Hi Nate!"

He thinks he sees some sort of grimaced look cross Blair's face as he wraps his arms around her best friend, but he's not quite sure. Her gaze has only landed on him a few times the entire night, and Nate would be lying if he believes he is okay with it.

He _should_ be okay with it.

"S, I'm going to the bathroom," she says, swiftly getting up and heading into another direction.

For a moment, Nate doesn't understand how Blair already knows where the bathroom is. She's never been here, as far as he knows, so the only possible answer is that she had scoped out the room once she'd gotten here. In case she'd run into him.

It had once been coded into Nate's DNA to never follow Blair once she left, but there's also the idea that he has to protect her, just like he had been supposed to. Protect her; fight for her; be beside her; even against her if it's for Blair's own good. Yeah, there had been a time when he'd have happily kicked back and never given it another thought; Blair has always been able to handle herself, however just standing and watching her try to escape him isn't easy for Nate to deal with.

He's frustrated, angry, and beyond tired. He is wrecking his brain trying to figure out why she's running from him when she had been the one to ask him why _he'd_ been avoiding _her_ ever since their break up. This entire turn of events has done nothing but weigh heavily on his mind because Nate's missed her more than he can even allow himself to think.

"Blair!" He shouts her name, even though the music is beginning to die down as they roam further from the living room. "Blair!"

There's a couple making out in the dimly lit hallway, but they quickly scamper away at the sound of their nearing voices.

Blair stops, turns around, but doesn't say anything. Maybe, he thinks, there is nothing more to be said.

Rather than explaining himself, something he's never had a tendency to do, Nate simply brushes a strand of hair from her face, suddenly realizing that she can feel Blair's hot breath all over his. And she breathes his name as their faces move closer together until his lips press against hers.

It's harsh and demanding and so different from the words they could have shared, and Nate can already feel the ominous pain chew at him as he pushes her against the bathroom door. But Blair is so warm, and she's forever been so familiar, and so distinct from all the other girls he has ever been with.

He groans inwardly as his hands find their way into her hair; it transports him back to _that _night and all the nights before when she had been his.

Nate knows it is wrong, he did, just like it had been wrong the night she had first kissed him on his bed. Chuck is probably in some other state, hell, perhaps even another country right now, most likely at some sort of business event like he constantly is, and Nate is here, semi-hidden in the dark with Chuck's girlfriend.

This is wrong, but he can't stop, even worse, he doesn't want to stop.

Blair pulls away from him, her fingertips immediately go up to touch her swollen lips.

"We can't," she whispers, and her voice sounds a little strange, tortured and so pained.

"I know." Nate whispers back, but doesn't believe he really does.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

"Do you love me?"

Blair is sure that she has misunderstood. There is no way Nate has just asked her the exact same words she had those many years ago, the night when she'd taken the limousine sent for him to Chuck, the same night that started this entire tension.

No, Blair instantly tells herself, their problems started long before that.

Fearing that this conversation is about to get even worse, she grabs her coat and marches towards the apartment door, swinging it open with all the strength she has left.

"Tell me," he continues briskly, eyes going hard and his jaw clenching in defiance, "that you don't love me, and for the rest of our lives I'll just be Nate to you, nothing more."

There's something brewing inside her stomach as she clenches the door handle, recalling the hesitant look on Chuck's face as he had told her he had to attend a conference in L.A. for the New Year weekend.

He had predicted that she'd betray him again, and he had been right.

Even after Chuck had revealed to her that he knew what she'd done with Nate, he has continued to look at her like he's searching for something, and she'll get that feeling in her stomach, the one that makes her want to throw up because she can't bear it. But she tells herself that it's nothing.

Just like these kisses she'd shared with Nate were nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Sort of.

All of a sudden, everything comes to a standstill.

She had been the one who kissed Nate first, had came here last night herself, yet Blair had still blamed Nate for all of this madness that had ensued. She'd done it because it had been easy and it made the guilt a little more bearable, but Blair realizes that she's past that now and is aware her part in all this. If she hadn't been so quick to kiss him, thinking that she could gain the comfort she'd thought she was missing.

Of course, the comfort had already been in place because Nate was providing it long before that night and ever since she'd come to him in Bridgeport.

It all goes back to Nate. For Blair, this has always been the case.

She turns to face Nate and laughs, because she isn't certain if she can manage speech around the scream that's clotted in the back of her throat.

"You don't act on impulse, Blair. You always think of the consequences," says Nate, looking at her, looking right _though_ her, "I know you, and none of this could have happened if it wasn't serious for you."

Blair does feel something for Nate, something utterly strong and affectionate, but there's still a tug in her heart, a pull of her strings with Chuck also. And that magnifies the pain to its worst, because if anything, Chuck will be gone, and then she'll have no one.

"I never said I was still in love with you, Nate"

It's not exactly what he asked of her, but it's close enough to drive the situation home.

She watches Nate walk over towards her, and instead of yelling and demanding for an another answer, he slams the apartment door in her face. Blair can feel a burning in her heart, but she embraces it, because what she and Nate have between them at the moment is not enough to sustain anything real, it's fleeting, and so it will only hurt more in the end.

–

_New York, New York; 2010 _

Nate comes home a few minutes before January 1st.

Normally, he wouldn't have left Dan's this early, but his body is so racked with fatigue, and his mentality isn't in a better state either. Especially considering that as he had been leaving, he could have sworn he saw Blair's face staring at him before retreating back into the awaiting crowd.

The doorbell rings as Nate hears the sudden distant booming of fireworks breaking the silence of his apartment and announcing the start of the New Year.

_2011_, thank God.

"Hey." Nate drawls, as he opens the front door. He's never heard himself sound like that.

"Hi," replies Blair, as the light from the loud explosions suddenly finds its way into his apartment, enveloping her in brightness.

A heat slides into his heart where it takes root and burns, growing into a steady fire that ignites everything under his skin, as Blair kicks off her shoes and throws back her coat.

"What are you...," he opens his mouth to ask her what she's doing here, considering all the places and all the people she could be congratulating at this moment, but Blair clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Just shut up," she says, gazing at him, her eyes like dots of flickering embers in the light of the fireworks outside.

The conviction in her expression evident and Nate finds himself quiet, suddenly believing in all the nondescript, fuzzy feelings that won't come into focus.

Blair's mouth catches his, and Nate visibly melts into her, reclining her over the back of the sofa until they both topple backwards onto the cushions. He pulls back, both of them giggling.

And then, just as he feels his back touch the crisp sheets on his bed, the world around Nate blurs and he murmurs out an empty 'Happy New Year' before he blinks tiredly and sees Blair's face sleeping beside him.

Nate knows now the absence of her makes him ache in places he never even knew he had inside him. And he knows that it is, without a doubt, the absolute worst feeling in the entire world.

He sighs at the absurdity of the situation, at the inclination to slam his fist into the wall, at the universe's disposition to torment him with the one girl in the world he can't have, even though he had always thought he should.


	10. Chapter 9

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Ten  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

When Chuck comes home New Years Day, he almost instantly collapses on the sofa. He doesn't move and hasn't looked at Blair yet. Hasn't laughed. Hasn't affirmed how his trip went, or what he did the previous night. He just lies on the cushions, feet crossed on the coffee table, taking deep breaths.

Feeling awkward, Blair rushes to the mini bar and pours him his favourite scotch. She tries to smile at Chuck as she hands him his glass, but he just look ahead, slouched onto the couch like he hasn't slept in days.

His scarf is askew. So Blair straightens out the leftward slant of Chuck's scarf so it lays perfectly flat down his shoulder the way it's supposed to.

She's stalling.

"Are you alright, Chuck?"

She misses him, she realizes as he laughs at his words. For a while, before being hospitalized, they'd been almost—best friends, just like they were before, maybe, well minus the sex. And then she kissed Nate, more than once, and somehow, under the guise of completely-not-affected-relationship, they've deteriorated to the point where Chuck won't even look at her most of the time.

"I'm great," he nods his head, then stops, pondering for a minute. "Is the urge to beat up the board of directors a good sign?"

"Chuck."

Blair turns her attention back to him, nothing the absence of his worry lines and crinkling brow that she hasn't noticed before now.

"We can't do this anymore," says Blair, feeling something deep in the dark recesses of her soul split open and bleed.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

Nate orders a beer inside the seedy bar located a couple of blocks south from the beach house. This usually isn't on his daily agenda, but Nate can't bring himself to stay home and suffocate in the stony silence, especially knowing what he knows now.

There's a man on the stool beside him that is radiating despair, but the place is so packed that he doesn't have a choice.

"You look like you've got a lot on your mind," the old man beside him says suddenly.

Nate's first instincts are telling him not to talk to this guy, cause yeah, he looks really sketchy. But Nate doesn't exactly have a lot of other people who he can talk about anything over with. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Girl trouble?"

Nate laughs and even he can hear the bitterness that instantly laces it. His chest tightens again, and this time it has nothing to do with Chuck's relapse.

The man drains his glass and continues, "she take off on you?"

"A long time ago," answers Nate, as he finally takes a sincere look a the guy, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the thick stubble. He resists the urge to wince when he realizes that he looks just like him.

The man grumbles, gulping down his new drink. "What was your crime?"

"I not really sure," he says, sipping his cold beer, and then coughing because fuck, he does know why.

Maybe.

"I was never really sure what I did either," the man tells Nate, "Women are all the same."

The words hit Nate square in chest, like a full blown punch. There is something inherently sad and wrong about this man's generalization of women being the same. Blair's different, and that's all Nate can conjure up.

That's all he knows; it's everything he has ever known.

Nate thinks about Blair and all the conflicting, contradictory impressions he's grown of her ever since New Years several years back. By the time he is finished his beer, there isn't a single though in his head that doesn't have her in it. Hell, there's not a lot of his life that doesn't have something to do with her. It's always been about Blair. In some way, shape or form.

He had used to resent that, resent her as much as he humanly could without leaving her. Perhaps they had been the reasons he had always failed her.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

"You're right," replies Chuck, leaning forward to face her, but can't bear to look up from his folded hands, "You're pretty predictable, you know that Blair?"

She hopes that's true, so that perhaps her actions earlier today weren't as much as a surprise; perhaps they didn't hurt Nate as much as she fears.

"I'm sorry," she answers.

There's silence for a moment when he looks at her. A moment ago, Blair had wanted him to, but now it's her turn to look away, because it's that look that he's been giving her for several days, maybe weeks now.

She's only sure it began after he figured out about Nate and when she had confessed about it. She isn't even sure what the look exactly is. There's some kind of brutal honesty etched into the way Chuck's eyebrows are pinned together, the slight crease of his forehead, the way he's biting his cheek like he's thinking too hard about her.

Blair finally regrets it.

"I know," he says, and it sounds true. He does know. Even is she weren't sure of that she can hear it in his voice; how tired she is. "It's okay, Blair."

She shakes her head. "No, it's not okay – "

He cuts her off, shaking his head and muttering 'no' under her breath over and over until his eyes snap open.

"Don't." Chuck breathes, one hand raking through his dark hair. "You know when I saw you walk into the hospital room with Nate, you looked … so happy, Blair. The happiest I'd seen you in weeks. And after my recovery I realized that I could have lost you – "

"You hadn't, you _didn't_."

"I want you to be happy, Blair."

The edges of her lips quirk and her eyes begin to water, and Blair is having a difficult time being able to tell apart her happy tears from her sad smile at this point.

"Me too." Blair answers, her shoulders tilt up in a lopsided shrug as Chuck sighs, blowing out a long breath.

For a second she wonders why he doesn't question her about Nate. Why he doesn't ask her to do what's right and pursue him. Her gut squirms because maybe it's not the right thing to do after all. Maybe she's just this shell of a person with so much left unsaid with no more words to wrung the thoughts out.

Blair stands up and brushes away the hair from her face, "I never lied when I said I loved you."

Chuck glances up at her, and she sees the finality in all his features. "I know."

Blair smiles warily, a genuine smile. It feels good, smiling knowing that at heart, Chuck is still Chuck. He looks at her like he's grown a second head, which only makes her laugh and then he joins her, their chuckles echoing off the walls around them.

–

_Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014_

Nate hastily pays for his drink and runs out of the bar, filling his lungs with enough fresh air to force the stench of smoke and alcohol out of his head.

His mind swirls around the forlorn and lovesick impression that _he_ has probably given off the past few years. But is he really any of those things?

He begins his march home, the summer sun setting behind him as he thinks about everything in as little time as possible. He thinks about the meaning of Chuck's visit, and his own rather unappealing appearance; about Blair and her whereabouts, and how he had failed to justify himself the last time they spoke at Tripp's congratulatory party.

As Nate turns into his street, his thoughts turns as well, to fireworks, and hospitals, and a dark purple dress.

–

_New York, New York; 2011_

Blair is at the party the night Tripp is elected into congress.

Nate is vaguely swaying his date as he slow dances her to the soft harmony of the violinist in the corner.

When he first sees Blair, dressed head to toe in a crimson gown, hair tied up in a fancy sculptural way, he immediately looses his footing. And when her sweet laughter drifts across the room, it slams into him, cutting through his ribcage with the intensity of an exploding landmine.

And as Blair turns and catches Nate's gaze, _because she always seems to do that_, New Years Day starts to flood into his vision from his memory.

Nate wishes he didn't know her. He wishes he could just watch Blair over the oblivious shoulder of his date, standing there, staring blankly at him, and not remember.

"Umm, I have to go tie my shoes... in the bathroom," he tells the woman he is half-halfheartedly with.

Nate knows he isn't making sense, but he can't stop the thoughts that suddenly invade his conscience.

He should have seen this coming, this epiphany of his, but he's been so elated for his cousin that Nate didn't even think of the ramifications of seeing Blair here... of ever seeing her again, really.

A surge of _déjà vu_ hits him as he indistinctly recalls that she is no longer with Chuck.

"You always did clean up nicely," says Blair, as she approaches him, her eyes flicking up and down his frame.

Somewhere far off he feels the curious glance of his cousin on them, and that immediately forces Nate to turn up the corners of his mouth into something that isn't quite a grin.

He wishes he could smile at her.

"I have to return to my date," he replies heatedly, "she's perfect. She's exactly who I want to be around."

Blair gives him a crooked grimace, more resigned and defeated than any other Nate can ever remember seeing on her face, before departing.

He did this to her, but can she blame him? She's done a lot back.

And although the party is loud, he can still hear the clacking of her heels, and the breaking of his heart all over again.

When Nate returns, the woman asks if he's alright. He ignores her and wishes he didn't have to remember how happy Blair had made him feel when she'd said he was her boyfriend.

And when he takes his date home, he wishes that he didn't remember the days and nights spent in Blair's bed, drinking her in.

He also wishes that his sheets, including everything else he owns, didn't still smell of her. So that when he fucks, _no _– the woman corrects him, staring at him the entire time, _make love – _whatever, he can at least keep his eyes open. Do the whole romantic thing with someone asides from Blair.

And when he breaks up with that woman, weeks after, all that is going through his mind is that even after everything, he'll always know that he can't stay immune to Blair's magnetism.


	11. Chapter 10

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Ten  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

**Author's Note:** Very long overdue, yes I know. This chapter is really just a catapult, some might say 'filler', because after all this time focusing on school, I've lost the mojo for this story and now I have to work my way in getting it back. Additionally, I hope no one is confused with what's going on, especially in terms of this chapter, because all the little seemingly random time frames other than 2010 and 2011 from before will start to come in play from now on.

–

_Mid-Atlantic, 2014_

Nate sits next to the window on the transcontinental flight because he likes the vague sense of privacy it gives him.

Somewhere over the vast ocean underneath him Nate falls asleep, but it's restless, and he squirms around in his seat because he can't get comfortable, and whether of not that's the fault of the recycled plane air or the dream, he's just not sure.

Flashes of things he doesn't know how to feel about anymore fill his head, and while these things loop in their figurative reel in Nate's mind, he's never felt bad about them until now.

Back at the wraparound porch, Chuck is smoking his cigarettes beside Nate, and even though the world is coming apart at his feet, Nate has never felt safer.

His eyes mist in his sleep and Nate feels like an idiot.

Now at Tripp's congratulatory party two years prior, Blair is looking at him like he is a stranger to her.

She's his rock, his tether to the universe, and she's gone. Nate is alone, here, somewhere over the Atlantic, wondering how the hell he made the split-second decision to get onto this plane.

A small bulb casts an eerie light that hits his face, and it's not cold but suddenly Nate feels like he's freezing, and if anyone can fix this, Blair can.

When Nate lands, he's kind of hoping things will be normal.

He expects _himself_ to go back to normal.

Only what happens if he doesn't? What happens, if anything, it just gets worse? And to top it all, he doesn't even know what it is. Nate is only aware that something is not right in his life. Everything... it just feels wrong. Not empty, not unfulfilled, just wrong. Like college, and girls, and finally doing what _he_ has wanted to do didn't set everything right.

It's almost as if all of it had missed something.

Jerking away, he's sweating and fumbling to turn off the light in the compartment overhead, and the first thing Nate sees is the stewardesses eyes on his face.

She stays silent even as his face grows red.

"Sorry," she mumbles, turning away to attend to another passenger, and just like that, Nate knows.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2013_

It's weird.

Blair hasn't really been celebrating New Years like she used for a couple of years now, and being surrounded by all these French people who Roman claims are here to see _her_, makes her want to drink as much champagne as she can until her stomach erupts and her head is inside a porcelain toilet just like it always used to be.

Although she loves her father and sometimes even Roman, when he isn't trying too hard to probe into her love life, Blair is having a hard time keeping up small talk with the couple's neighbours.

It may be easy in New York, where everyone gossips around the clock, but here all conversations are mostly always about weddings and new properties for sale in the area and tips on how to grow the best vineyard.

The sound of early explosions draw everyone towards the grand bay windows.

Stopping in her tracks, Blair feels a sense of déjà vu unlike any she has ever felt before; she lets her eyes rest on the brilliant colours that cascade over the dark sky overhead.

Her heart thuds painfully, and drops so far into her stomach, she's almost afraid that she won't be able to find it.

Her father comes up behind her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "What's the matter, Blair bear?"

"Huh?" Blair sniffs, looking up at him sheepishly, "oh nothing."

He doesn't say anything, but comments on how the local teenagers start the fireworks before the New Year actually begins.

She turns back towards the windows and feeling herself getting a little teary.

–

_New York, New York; 2014_

The moment he is back in the city after his long drive from Bridgeport, Nate walks across the Waldorf foyer, something he's done his entire life.

The entirety of the living room is covered with an assortment of fabrics, all ranging different hues of reds and oranges and somewhere amidst all of it he finds a disgruntled Eleanor.

"Tara, is that you? I called you a hour ago–"

Something tells Nate that his tired look and his wrinkly beach attire aren't going to score sympathy points with the stressed designer.

"Nathaniel," she pauses, pushing her thin glasses up the bridge of her nose, "what on Earth are you doing here?"

"El...– _Mrs. Waldorf-Rose_," he hastily corrects himself, knowing that he no longer has a reason to address this woman by her first name, "I just wanted to stop by and see Blair."

"She isn't here."

He knows.

"Can you tell me where she is?" asks Nate, getting seriously intimidated by the stern look on her face. "If you don't mind."

"I don't think that's a good idea," says Eleanor, turning back to her work and waving her hand at him in dismissal, "she's doing some work this summer and I'd hate to be the reason–"

"Please," he says, his voice barely coming out in a tone he'd be proud of.

Eleanor stops mid sentence, and it's almost seems as though he's given up his powers, and suddenly the older woman softens a little and stares at him with awe, maybe _pride_, and something inside Nate swells at the idea that he's done something right.

And as quickly as the look had come, it disappears.

An unfamiliar woman with an armload of bags comes rushing in from the elevator, apologizing that she's late, while Eleanor sighs and says that Blair is at her father's, in France, before shooing Nate away.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2013_

"I want you to meet a friend of mine," says Blair's father, guiding her away from the fireworks and towards a much older man. "Blair, this is François Tremblay, a colleague of mine at the institute."

Blair smiles, thankful that her memories have at least kept her in check so that she doesn't embarrass her father in front of his friend.

"Blair, your father... has told me so much about you." François greets, clearly struggling with his English. "He says you are... a very _intelligent _girl."

"Oh, I wouldn't say... – "

"Oh _Pish Posh_! Don't be uhh ... how do you say ... _average_?"

"I believe you meant to say _modest_," she corrects, finding this conversation to be the most fun she has had all evening.

"Of course," he chuckles loudly, startling her. "I was wondering uhh ... with your father's _recommendation_ ... if you would be so kind as to _teach_ at the institute this summer."

Teaching? Blair wonderingly glances up at her father who merely shrugs and starts a conversation with a nearby woman.

She thinks of her NYU major, but immediately doubts that is what needs to be taught at the French law school her father currently works at.

"What subject would you like me to teach? And to whom?"

"English, and a small class ... of night students, _mon chérie_. God knows I need to be in that class," the old man laughs again, this time the sound echos patronizingly once they enter her ears.

But there are no eye rolls on Blair's part. She would definitely have a more fun summer flying across Europe like she usually does, maybe inviting Serena along with her, and shopping all day while relaxing and having dinner at a fancy restaurant every night.

Does she want things to change? Does she want to be here in a couple of months, most likely boarding with her father and Roman? Blair is not sure. There is a novelty in doing something like teaching, something she's never though seriously about or put into perspective because it is so improbable to her. The thought makes her feel like such a child, all inexperience and innocence despite it all.

Tonight feels like high school to her.

"Perhaps you should think about it, yes?" François nods, biding her a farewell and then disappearing into the rest of the party as the clock counts down till the next year.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

Again, Nate nearly falls asleep as the train begins to slowly move.

It funny, he thinks, because pursuing Blair like this, seeking her out without a word, is a lot like a train pulling out of its station. It could head back, but why would it?

It's course has already been set.

He's always disliked that about his earlier life, but now the knowledge of seeing Blair again, happy or disgruntled with his arrival, prevents Nate from taking the next flight back to JFK.

The porter announces 20 minutes before they pull into Nate's designated station. Nate's groggy, looking out into the bright afternoon, the sun cascades beams of bright light into the empty seat beside him.

He waits for a taxi at the station which is full of city people coming out to summer homes. He tells a driver the address where he hopes to find Blair. They only get lost twice before a gardener at a neighbouring house directs them towards the correct lane.

The manor is a haven, all white siding against a bright green hill backdrop, with wild flowers framing the stone driveway. The gate to a vast vineyard behind the house is only just visible from where Nate stands now, looking like a dot on the plants in the distance.

Nate closes his eyes and tries to picture the time, years ago, when he had promised Blair he'd come here with her to visit her father.

The memory causes a shiver to run down his spine as he audibly gulps. Nate tells the driver to wait but keep the gas and meter running because knowing Blair, if they manage to speak, their talk won't be long.

With his heart in his throat, Nate shoves his hands deep into his pockets and climbs the orange stone steps to the white front doors. He takes a deep breath, willing his nerves to settle. If there's a any chance whatsoever of having a close to normal _reunion_ with Blair as possible, he just needs to calm down.

"Nate?"

And then he sees her.

The pulse in Nate's neck twitches, he feels the tickling muscles in his chest come to life.

It's a pleasant shock to see how much Blair has aged in the past four years. Her hair is almost entirely several shades lighter, or maybe it just looks that way due to the sunlight. Blair's skin is a milky tanned colour under her yellow cotton dress. But she still has that same expression of surprise that he always knew she had.

Suddenly he has a terrifying thought, as he looks at Blair watching him like he's grown two heads, that maybe she's not comfortable for the reason he thinks.

"What are you doing here?" Blair asks, making her way towards the steps from the backyard gate she has just sprung from.

Clearing his throat and absorbing the heat from the French countryside afternoon, Nate begins to cautiously unravel his guarded thoughts. Perhaps if he keeps silent, he can mask the terror erupting in his stomach, the possibilities of what could happen here if he isn't careful with his words.

He doesn't think he has ever worked this hard to maintain himself in front of anyone.

Aside from realizing a few key details about the past five years during Chuck's visit, Nate has also understood his future.

He also knows that when all this other wooing tactics fail, he astonishingly still has his words to rely on, so before Blair can slip inside the house and slam the door on his face like he did to her a few years ago, Nate falls back on them one last time.

"I was wrong you know," he says vaguely and finds it kind of funny that when it comes to the two of them, he could be referring to many things.

"What about?" Blair questions instinctively, her demeanor instantly tenses.

_"She's perfect. She's exactly who I want to be around." _

"About whom I wanted to be around – "

"Nate," she warns, her eyes narrowing when he interrupts.

Because he sees her behind her stoic front.

"It's you," whispers Nate, his voice breaking abruptly, "I want to be with _you_."

"Nate, please..." Blair looks desperate to make him stop but he's already too close to the surface to give up.

"No. I know I've screwed up with you, and had no right to call you out for not having feelings for me," he pauses, watching Blair's bewildered eyes finally focus on him, "what we did ... I know it put you in a difficult position and I'm sorry. I won't ever do it again."

He steps forward and squeezes her soft hand lightly, not to scare her.

"Is that it? Is that why you came out all the way here?" Blair asks breathlessly as she starts to slip her hand away from his grasp. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

"I don't know, you tell me," he replies, fully letting go and walking down the pathway towards the cab.

However, midway he stops and turn around, sees her still standing in a speechless daze at the top of the front steps, staring blankly after him.

"I'll wait however long it takes," he shouts, almost like it's a heroic gesture, before closing his eyes and stepping into the taxi.

She has never made it very easy to stay.

But, that's all right. He has never been very good at walking away.

–


	12. Chapter 11

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Eleven  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

She should have seen it coming, this epiphany of Nate's, but she'd been so elated with the offer of spending an entire summer away from New York and its drama, that Blair hadn't even thought of the ramifications of her past coming to catch up with her.

Blair remembers the previous afternoon; standing at her father's steps and watching Nate drive off into the setting sun. It had felt like a fairytale gone wry, the prince leaving without the princess, with the slightest chance of him coming back.

She is still not sure if she should be laughing or feeling something else entirely after the sudden turn of events of her summer.

But then, Blair reasons, because she shouldn't be too surprised.

Nate Archibald always had horrible timing.

–

_New York, New York; 2015_

There's a fair bit of noise, scuffing and muffled shouts and then the music changes from some erotic beat to a continuous stretch of blundering vibrations.

"Chuck?" Nate asks, taking his hands out of his pockets and landing on the leather couch next to his friend.

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday, man."

"Thanks," replies Chuck.

The line goes silent. Nate can almost feel Chuck pulling that face he does, the one that makes him want to ask what's on his mind.

"You alright?" Nate asks.

"Yeah," answers the club owner, his eyes focusing intently on the stage before him, as if he is trapped in a distant, etched memory.

"Blair wants to bring you a cake tomorrow, what kind do you want?" He jokes, tossing a grin at Eric who is seated across the two of them.

"You and Blair are going bake a cake for me, then?" Chuck questions lightheartedly, his eyes reflecting the pink and orange lights that circle the open room. "That has got to be true love right there."

Nate laughs, and it's awkward, but it's still just Chuck.

As usual, his friend looks at him like he's trying to figure out just what the hell he's on about, not that Nate really cares. He's just happy to see Chuck outside of the ugly white walls and the pitiful chained-in hospital room.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

A huge gust of wind blows through Nate's chest, like someone has opened a door for the cold rush of early morning French air to sweep into his lone hotel room. It clenches around his stomach in a pleasant way.

Chuck calls him the next morning after he gets back from a meeting, tells him that he's running himself ragged doing all the professional stuff around Eastern Asia, complains good naturedly that he had thought summer was supposed to go by a little more leisurely.

Halfway into the conversation he asks Nate if Blair has tried to contact him since his departure from her father's vineyard. If she has given him any hint of reconciliation.

"No," replies Nate, squirming around in his room, feeling uncomfortable everywhere he sits. "I left and I came straight to my hotel."

He hasn't been able to sleep ever since, and if he knows Blair, he wouldn't be surprised if it has been the same for her.

And it really doesn't change the fact that, as he was driving away in the cab, Nate could have sworn he saw Blair's face looking after him, for just a second, before she had retreated behind the vineyard fence in the late afternoon shadows.

God, he still hasn't really slept since he has been back. The thrum of anticipation is running wildly underneath his skin, burning his veins as it itches at him all hours of the night. In retrospect, Nate has probably gotten about three hours of sleep since. Add in his remedial time staring into space thinking about Blair, and watching nonsense French television which he doesn't understand, Nate is beyond exhausted.

His body is racked with fatigue and if he can't manage sleep, all he wants is a hot shower and some wholesome food.

Nate steps under the scalding water and hears the grumbling of his empty stomach, but still, that's not all. In fact, all his thoughts leave his hunger and the strange surroundings of the bathroom, and focus on Blair.

He slams his palm against the slippery shower wall tiles, because she is all he thinks about nowadays and Nate should be used to it, but he isn't.

_Shit._

He's in a shower thinking of and_ picturing_ the girl he wants more than anything. The immediate arousal coursing through him is inevitable; however it doesn't help him or his situation.

Nate snaps his eyes shut tightly and wills his heartbeat to slow down as he exits the shower and stumbles around for a towel before getting dressed and bolting out of the door.

There's only one decent bakery open in the mornings in this small, hillside town and Nate takes the time to clear his head and strategize his daily agenda as he begins his long walk towards it.

The thing is Nate knows his arrival has been abrupt. He knows that Blair shouldn't have expected it, not in a million years, because it's something she would once have wanted him to do, which is why he wouldn't have done it in the first place.

He usually flakes at meeting Blair's expectations, and it irritates him. Blair not responding to him, her _turning away_, remembering how much he has disappointed her in the past, it hurts. It hurts like hell, because more than anything else in the world now, he wants to be the man who _she_ has always wanted him to be.

He can't fix everything by himself, and that fact tears away at Nate as much as anything else.

–

_New York, New York; 2015_

Most days, it's pretty normal.

Most days, Chuck goes to his board meetings, most days he is laughing around, initiating banter and acting insidious, like he always has. He is rushing her and Nate off to work, off to go _home_ after a long visit, but they usually stay with Chuck while he hears the results of his latest tests from the umpteenth specialist he sees.

Most days, she and Nate can act normal in front of Chuck. Most days Serena can visit too and not end up leaving in tears, and Blair doesn't have to think that Chuck is really dying this time.

Most days she can enjoy dinner with Nate because she can manage to forget long enough than should be possible. It doesn't take her long to realize that this is just another thing Nate has managed to give her.

"Are we being punished?" Serena whines the night after Chuck's 24th birthday and all Blair wants to do it wring her throat before Chuck says no.

Nate stays silent, locking his eyes with her, because there is a chance that _yes_, they are, and she doesn't know why. Blair doesn't know what sin they have committed that requires this much repentance.

"Will this take a while?" Nate asks, keeping his voice leveled and light, almost like he is complaining but doesn't want to sound dreary for the answer he should already know.

"I don't know," replies Chuck, his face unreadable.

And Blair thinks there might be some sort of empty promise in his words, and perhaps this might take forever, hopes that life in Chuck can last forever, that their close circle, their _family_,can last forever, even though she knows better.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

Nate is kind of just lost in a maze of his own thoughts as he chews on his croissant simultaneously. There's a little girl walking her dog across the narrow street and in some other universe, she could be Blair, and that dog would probably be him.

The thought makes him chuckle, and relieves some of the tension in his stiff muscles. It's even enough to make him choke on his coffee once he sees the familiar face of an aged man approaching him.

"Nathaniel!"

He immediately snaps out of his reverie and comes face to face with Blair's father.

Panic washes over Nate, enough to make his stomach twists into what feels like a hundred different knots of discomfort. Then his hands begin to sweat as well, and he can barely hold his coffee mug.

_Its_ _okay_, Nate thinks to himself. Maybe Blair hasn't told her dad of the intentions and the history behind his arrival and he won't get the living lights kicked out of him.

"Mr. Waldorf," Nate rises from his seat as he shakes the man's hand politely. "Hello."

_We were lonely, I was a little drunk, and we didn't really mean it. And it wasn't even anything that bad anyhow. _

A million and one excuses start to rush to his head. He internally winces as Harold sits down at the table across from him, and the guilt he feels only worsens.

It's not really like him to take responsibly onto himself. Especially not for something as huge and messy like this; something that has the potential to really cause the same amount of damage all over again. Nate doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to respond all of a sudden.

He only knows that he's suddenly so aware of Harold being the father of Blair. The Blair who would probably not think twice to let him bear the burden of a mistake they both made.

But Harold doesn't look upset.

Not at all.

In fact, he looks a little delighted at the sight of him.

"I can only imagine you're here to see my daughter," the older man says.

"Yes," he responds, because what else can he say?

"You won't find her at my home."

Nate absentmindedly rubs the scruff on his jaw as he feels something open up on the floor underneath him, something big and infinite that feels like it's going to swallow him whole.

"Sir, if I could just have one more minute with her, I promise I'll be out of her hair after that," replies Nate, feeling spontaneous and alive for the first time since his visit.

This is the feeling that had brought him here, to Burgundy, ready to leap without looking.

There's an expectant pause, and every silent second that passes causes all hope in Nate so wither and dissipate until finally he's certain that he has crossed some unmarked line.

"She's at the college in the next town over," Harold states, slowly wiping his mouth with his napkin, "In a big grey stone building, _huge_. It looks like an old cathedral. You can't miss it."

Nate's feet make the decision for him and he is just about to leave the table, uttering out a gracious thank you, as the sense of longing for a connection that has been running under his skin for the last couple of years kicks in full tilt, so hard it nearly makes him itch.

"Nathaniel?"

He freezes, unsure of how to react to Harold's steady face, when suddenly the man clucks his tongue and leans back into his chair.

"Next time, don't wait so long," teases Harold, wrinkles on display, and Nate feels the tightening in his insides begin to wilt away.

–

_New York, New York; 2015_

One month passes, and then another, and before Blair knows it, it's Christmas Eve. Blair, Nate, Serena and Eric, who comes along when he isn't busy studying to finish his final year at Brown, make sure to listen to Chuck and his blatantly pervasive jokes when they visit him wherever he may be.

They make sure to groan and scoff at the appropriate moments, because they are still trying desperately to cling on to whatever normalcy they can, pretending to be anything but what they are — four adults who are already grieving for a man who hasn't left yet.

And then suddenly, one day, he starts telling stories about his past, _their_ past.

Chuck makes them promise not to showcase any emotional stuff. No tears and no sad looks.

"Just trust me," he advises, slowly rubbing his tired eyes.

Blair looks at Chuck and sees that little has changed around their Manhattan playground. Some businesses have been renamed or replaces, there's a new deli around the corner of the familiar hospital. None the less, she knows that time passes and _these_ things, these trivial and detached things, do not affect her like she thinks they should.

Blair sees now that Chuck had made this decision for a reason. He wants them to spend time together as friends, and that's what they are doing.

But she and Nate end up at the hospital of Christmas evening anyway. Chuck fights it as hard as he can to get them to stay out of his room, but they are adamant, which is even more important.

Nate sits next to him while he sleeps, while Blair stands near the window, watching the snow falling outside splat on the thick sheet of glass. When she looks down at Chuck, an IV in his arm and his skin as winter-pale as the weather outside, she knows why he doesn't want them here.

Chuck's eyes silently open.

"Blair," he whispers, "Did I ever tell you about how—"

"Chuck," Nate chokes out, "now?"

He smiles at them, and Blair can see the remains of who he was at 17, driving her home in his limousine, at 20 when he had first been diagnosed, and at 21 when she had left him.

"Come on, do me a favor, huh?"

"Okay," says Blair, smiling despite the tightness in her mouth. She walks over to Nate and sits quietly next to him, holding each of their hands as she tries not to think about how fragile and small Chuck's is. "Tell me how you and Nate became friends."

–


	13. Chapter 12

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Twelve  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

When Nate first walks through the huge stone building's entrance, he's not too sure what he expects to find. In order to sort out his confusion and try to make sense of his arrival, Nate makes an attempt to recall that this is the place Harold had told him Blair would be.

And that's enough.

Hell, he's in another _country _for Blair, so a fifteen minute drive out of town seems like a much more comprehensible decision.

There are three students standing in front of a nearby bulletin board, talking about going out for drinks after their English class in a rather poor effort in the said language itself.

This seems understandable, Nate thinks, because they don't seem like the people that have visited an English speaking nation, let alone have ever left France.

Then one of them says it:

_Madame Waldorf_

And suddenly, Nate feels like he could use some liquid courage himself.

He silently makes a bee line in their direction when they leave the foyer, twisting his baseball cap down to cover his face and remain inconspicuous. The irony of his actions doesn't escape him; it's weird trying to hide when no one here knows who he is.

Nate sees the students pass through a wooden door into what he assumes is a lecture hall, and quickly follows, slipping through the opening. He makes sure to stay behind in the shadows of the corner he's in, away from the light of the large room.

The sight before him makes his earlier inhibitions look rather normal. In fact, what Nate is witnessing now, as clear as day, makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up instantly.

In the back of his head, and in previous years, Nate has always wondered what it would be like to see Blair cross over her usual boundary of comfort and rigidness. However, he never imagined the circumstances to be quite like this: watching Blair standing in front of a black board actually _teaching_.

While the students presumably start to pour over their notebooks, Nate releases his breath and wishes he had paid more attention in the French classes he was in during high school. Realizing that he has many hopes of things he wishes he could change about his past, and knowing that he can't do anything about them, Nate decides it would be a better idea to study Blair now, just to make sure that it really is her.

If anything, it is definitely Blair, and she's more beautiful than ever now that she looks so grown up since the last 24 hours Nate has seen her. He watches her speak French fluently as the words roll off her tongue in perfect unison to the rest of her grace. Blair speaks and walks and _teaches_ like it's a matter of utmost importance. A creeping sense of nostalgia washes over him because Blair's determination to her work is similar to every project and assignment Nate has ever seen her tackle on.

He draws his eyes to Blair's students, noticing their unrestricted attention and appreciation that Nate feels himself begin to fill up with. Blair, of course, could not possibly be more oblivious to the fact. Not surprising. She's too enthralled with her task at hand.

She's just used to it.

Nate turns back to look at Blair and her gaze flicks up and meets his. All he can do is raise his eyebrows in response, making the corners of Blair's mouth quirk up in amusement while she pauses to survey him.

–

_New York, New York; 2016_

"You remember what you promised me?" Chuck asks, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

"Of course," replies Nate, nodding slowly, watching Chuck's eyes glint with that gathering darkness of fatigue as he takes a seat across from his top-floor office desk.

Nate has had to fight off the instinct to tell Blair what exactly Chuck means, only because he knows his best friend wouldn't want her to know. That even after everything, there's still a deeper, underlying layer off susceptibility, a spark of aspiration left in Chuck that he wants only Nate to conform to.

With Blair knowing, she'd poke and prod and take matters into her own hands, molding Chuck's requests into something else entirely.

"Are you sure about this?"

"She was my mother, Nate."

Nate pauses and it takes several seconds before he can breathe again. Chuck's stare is dark and intent, even with his hands sprawled on top of his large wooden desk.

"My father never really talked about her. He told me once that it was too painful," says Chuck, rubbing his eyes with his fists, "All I ever found out was that she was from a small town in the South. There was never anything to sustain the memory of my mother, but I do love the memory of her anyway. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if she were still alive, but then I realize that too many things could have happened, and I'd probably still be in the same place I am now. "

"You don't know that," he whispers, trying to focus all his energy into not losing focus, but his mind still strays.

"Regardless, I'd like to think her moral compass was precise, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be when –" Chuck stops, his eyes flicker towards him and back down to his hands.

He doesn't finish the sentence.

"Chuck?" Nate's still whispering.

"Yes?" Chuck's now whispering too.

"I'm scared."

The thing is, he's afraid of a lot of things, starting with losing Chuck, or Blair, or anyone else he cares deeply about, ending with this feeling from something deep inside him and it closely resembles something like loneliness. It's a feeling Nate never wants to get back to.

"Me too," replies Chuck.

Whatever this thing is, this thing they have between them, since their very first day of school, to all the fights and apologies after that, it's their business, and Nate knows this.

He looks down at his watch, and with a silent nod, Nate gets up from his seat. His heart once again begins to roar in his ears, as he tries not to notice how every day, it seems like Chuck is getting up a little later in the morning, leaving the office a little earlier, how there are always strands of dark hair on his shoulders from the chemo, none of which seem to be growing back.

"Where is she buried?" Nate asks, holding Chuck's office door open with one hand.

"Larrabee. Larrabee, Missouri."

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

Blair starts to twirl a lock of curly dark hair around her finger. She could say it's a habit of hers now, first developed during the onset of her teenaged years. She releases the strand and feels Nate watch it spring back into place against the slope of her cheek.

She leans against the edge of her desk as her students begin to file out of the room, her eyes never wandering from his figure. Blair takes the time to study Nate's form, first looking at his face. It seems to be a lot more prominent than the last time she'd seen him months ago.

Everything about Nate, from the lines on his face, to the way he stands, to the way she remembers his voice from yesterday afternoon, had been sharpened to put Nate on display more than all those faults of his youth ever could.

"I didn't realize that this was your new scene," says Nate, as he starts to descend the stairs from the far doors.

"I didn't realize that you were a stalker," she retorts, unfolding her arms from her chest.

"Touché."

"Huh, seems like you really were paying attention in my class after all," Blair replies, giving Nate one of her 1000-watt smiles.

There's a pregnant pause, one where Nate shoves his hands into his pockets and where she's deciding to make her next move. But the thing is, she's not too sure what to say. Really, the weight of emotion and energy flowing through her right now should frighten her, because Nate always makes her feel this way, even when he shouldn't.

So Blair asks what any rational person would:

"What are you doing here?"

And yes, it does sound as redundant as it did when she had just thought about it in her head.

But Nate, with his face hopeful, eyes wide, earnest, and arms outstretched, finds a way to put some meaning into her words. "Blair, I traveled halfway across the world to see you yesterday, and I'm still here… what does that say to you?"

Blair knows exactly what it says, knows precisely what it means.

"It says that you have a serious problem," she fights back Nate's magnetic pull, "and a flight that probably leaves in a couple of hours."

Nate groans, running a hand through his hair. It's not true.

Of course it's not true.

"I thought I saw you here last New Years Eve.," Blair blurts, "Some kids started the fireworks early and when I approached the window I could have sworn I saw you there, just standing there, looking at me, from the middle of the field outside."

"So when you saw me yesterday…"

Laughing, Blair nods, "I thought I had finally lost my mind".

It's clear that neither of them is going to win this argument. Blair can easily send Nate away, either knowing that he'll be persistent and retrace his steps back to her, or give up indefinitely. Neither of those outcomes are possibilities she wishes.

Submission takes hold of her and breathing in, Blair allows the momentary thought that this can work to play out into her head. Because the thing is… she wants this, she wants Nate, wants it so bad she can taste it. Those few sincere nights spent with him on the Charlotte, and the ones spent in the city, could arguably be the happiest in her life and nothing else since then has ever come close.

Everything, her awards, family, friends, career, have paled in comparison to those stolen moments they shared.

"Blair," says Nate, "I didn't come here only to have it fall apart again. I love you."

Greed, relief, desire streaks through Blair like a hot blade through butter, searing through her core and the self preservation she calls on when things get to be too overwhelming.

Nate's thumb traces the curve of her cheekbone and Blair shivers. She can feel herself getting lost in his blue eyes. She's unable to halt her body's movements as the space between them is reduced to nothing. Nate's sandalwood and toothpaste scent is as relaxing as she remembers it to be. Her long forgotten fairytale begins to blend into reality.

"I love you too, Nate," Blair barely breaths it, "always have, always will."

Right before their lips meet, she swears her heart stops.

–


	14. Chapter 13

**Title: **Silk Lines**  
Chapter: **Thirteen  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair  
**Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

They're in her father's vineyard now, sprawled across a terrycloth blanket that seems as though it's a thousand yards from the French doors that adjourn the back porch of the manor. The sound of a bird catches their eyes as it shoots up into the sky from a nearby tree and disappears into the distant twilight.

Blair sits up on her elbows and looks at Nate with the utmost seriousness on her face. It's not meant to scare him, but a part of her doesn't want to give him the illusion that she's the exact same Blair he remembers. While the bigger things are still unvarying, Blair feels different about herself. She feels older and a lot less naive.

"It's been a long time, Nate. Things change. People change."

They lounge there for a few moments; Blair a little lost trying to decipher the contemplative look on Nate's face.

"I know that as well as anyone," he replies, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Especially now, _Madame Waldorf._"

"Looks like you haven't –," she pauses, tilting her head back to stare at the dark night sky above them. The edge of a vague memory, one regarding a boat and ocean water, instantly sharpens in her mind as Blair points at a cluster of stars. "There's the big dipper."

Without taking his eyes off hers, Nate slides his right hand to her hip, reaching around with nimble fingers and gently holding her neck with the other. Blair's breath is now coming with a trembling in her lungs.

She can't stop staring.

Nate's eyes – dark and blue and smoldering with something that looks a lot like ease and anticipation – reel her in, like the sea swallowing a heavy anchor. Forgetting that they're on her father's property, out in the open, Blair can only see Nate, can only feel the strength of his grip and the warmth of their closeness and the way that her heart is racing.

"I missed you so much," says Nate, head lowering and nose brushing against hers. Blair nods, closing her eyes and curling her fingers through his hair, her ruby ring glittering in the moonlight.

Everything inside Blair is melting and convulsing and bursting, her senses soaring far beyond any level of consciousness she's ever known. She's so caught up with the feel and taste of him, swept away by the realization that this is Nate; his scent, his taste, the feel of his body familiar and welcome.

There are a hundred nights with Nate Blair wishes she could no longer remember. The masquerade ball, the night after Serena's return, dancing in Victrola after their disastrous engagement celebration, but this one, this one she doesn't ever want to forget.

–

_New York, New York; 2015_

Chuck smiles faintly, his gaze far away as it collides with Nate's. Blair feels as though she should avert her eyes from such a personal moment, but she is transfixed. The look is laced with a mutual understanding they share on a hidden subject and it causes a jolt to course through her; when it comes down to the facts, it's always been them, hasn't it?

Before the sickness and the escalation of their maturity, before her and Serena, it was just the two of them. And sooner or later it will be only Nate.

Chuck's focus is still long gone as he speaks, placing his fork down beside his plate. "One time, when I was eleven, I got my father to tell me something about my mom. It was after a successful merger was completed and he had been celebrating with a glass of scotch when I decided to take my chances".

He pauses to take a drink, his thin fingers as white as paper as they contort around the glass.

"Maybe it was because Bart was drunk enough that he told me that my mother believed everything happened for a reason. Even when she lay dying in her the hospital," he finished, eyes swimming underneath the dining room lights, "I spent the entirety of my youth ignoring that idea because the more I felt that her words were not true, the less I thought about my mom. I also didn't have to think about the few, very far in between moments my father and I would manage to share in her absence".

Out of the corner of her eye Blair watches Nate chew the inside of his cheek. He looks as if he knows where Chuck's words are headed similar to an onlooker watching a derailed train about to witness a horrific accident.

Chuck doesn't seem to notice, only continues quietly, "In hindsight, I suppose she was right after all, because despite what is happening to me, something good has come of it".

Blair realizes that Chuck's eyes have suddenly landed on her. She swallows.

"Chuck…" Nate begins, but stops and Blair can feel it; that thick, overwhelming yet settling tension that permeates the air.

Chuck takes a breath, so slowly and deeply that Blair can track the complete rise and fall of his shrinking chest. "Think about it, it wouldn't have come to this point, where I'm having dinner with my two most favourite people in the world in the same room… together".

Blair's heart beats faster and faster, becoming so loud that when she exchanges looks with Nate, she can tell that his heart is probably responding the same way. Her mind whirs with an emotion she can't pin down exactly, trying to figure out what exactly is happening here. She almost doesn't hear Chuck's next words.

"I know this is long overdue, and maybe it doesn't really mean anything but," he coughs into his napkin, "can you guys forgive me?"

There is no doubt to what Chuck is really asking. She gets it almost as well as she understands Nate and his motives. She had once spent hours thinking about this, rolling the possibilities around in her head of what life would be like if Chuck had never been diagnosed with his tumor. Would she still be with Nate? Would she have continued to be with Chuck? It didn't happen and it's hard to imagine anything like that ever coming to be after all the emotion-hiding Chuck has done for the last five years, maybe longer.

If she's being honest with herself, Blair knows that it's hard because she has been in love with Nate for as long as she can remember, and all those endeavors to forget him, even Chuck, had ended before they even really began.

"Yes," says Blair as Nate nods silently, "We can forgive you."

–

_Burgundy, France; 2014_

The next time, Nate is not as gentle; he does not give her courtesy, and Blair does not mind.

Nate's presence around the manor increases with each following day. If he isn't there for her, Nate is always willing to find some sort of chore to complete for her father or Roman. That's why it's simple how Nate is able to corner Blair in the upstairs hallway. Blair almost rolls her eyes at the impossibility of it all.

Nate had once been so impossible himself.

This time, Blair begs and pleas, so Nate probes his fingers between her legs, working feverishly at the very heat of her until her knees give away, before taking her against the rich, mahogany wall.

Later, under the moonlight, Blair leads him deep into the vineyard, ties him to an orchid tree with his belt and returns the favor.

Blair knows that despite whatever changes she has experienced during Nate's absence, she's not defiant of her former self, and she can accept that.

She is not like any of the girls Nate has ever cared for. She's not the smartest, or the prettiest, or the most benevolent. But as she's coming apart around him, Blair realizes that it shouldn't be possible, for her heart to be so full with _anyone_. And it's in that moment when she knows that Nate loves her, has always loved her, and this is what helps Blair not care about the rest.

–

_New York, New York__; 2016_

It is easier than Blair had once remembered. Her years of perfecting her image, pushing her thoughts and feelings into the deep recesses of her mind, and Nate's ability to tear those emotions open hasn't left a mark on Blair's ability to stay alert. A huge part of being alert is knowing what to expect next.

For Blair, the worst part about Chuck's sickness is thinking of what will inevitably come of it. She knows that compared to Nate, she is definitely the stronger one in this situation now. She is aware of the likelihood that her strength will not totally heal his wounds or anyone else's.

After Chuck, Blair will have to bottle up her emotions once again. But before that, she wants to feel, just a little.

Slowly, Blair climbs out of bed, careful not to wake Nate who had finally fell asleep after hours of stirring restlessly. It's a sign of progress, she thinks, because at the very least, he is sleeping better beside her. She approaches the window, watches the streetlight at the nearest intersection flicker for a few moments before continuing its steady stream of light onto the sidewalk.

She allows her body to relax, feels the tenseness leave the line of her back, her spine, her shoulders, if only for a moment, allowing the fatigue to take over as Blair leans her head against the cold window-glass pane.

If she closes her eyes tight enough, Blair can picture the street below rushing her, and as she tries to draw a breath, it seems to deny her the heavy sigh she so desperately needs. It's frustrating the way her own body offers resistance, pushing against her with nothing but its best defenses in preventing the wave of emotion from overtaking her.

Behind her, Blair can hear the faint strains of the bed sheets, and she shuts her eyes, knowing what is coming next.

"Blair?"

Nate's sleepy voice rings in her eyes and suddenly there is movement directly behind her, below her, above her, a scrabbling for purchase on the rocky side of her chosen relief. She feels his arms envelop her from behind, and abruptly, Blair instinctively leans back against his warmth, wincing for them both.

She doesn't really reply except for a small groan that comes somewhere from the back of her throat. Nate knows her well by now not to question her or ask what she's doing. For that, she's grateful. Instead, she feels his arms tighten around her and she doesn't move or turn around.


	15. Chapter 14

******Title: **Silk Lines**  
****Chapter: **Fourteen**  
****Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.**  
****Rating:** T**  
****Ship(s): **nate/blair, chuck/blair**  
****Summary: **It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.

–

_Larrabee, Missouri; 2017_

At the far edge of the church, beyond the high arches where the pews line up in neat rows, Blair stands. She stands, silent, and she waits as the church gradually fills. Nate will come.

He always does.

–

_New York, New York__; 2014_

She had seen Chuck once.

It was peculiar, really. The moment she and Nate had returned from France, Blair realized that she was completely absorbed in him, and for good reason too, considering she's trying desperately hard to keep all the pain she has experienced a distant and faint memory of the past.

That day, however, Blair had been in a robust mood; wanting nothing more than to palm the planes of Nate's chest and trail her index finger from the hollow of his throat down to his shorts, pulling the drawstrings loose. It'd been enough for her to leave work early, phone pressed to her ear and Nate's cell ringing on the other end.

And then she sees him. Standing on one side of 4th Avenue with Chuck on the other, not turning away until he sees her, shoulders poking out of his collared shirt and eyes swimming with approval.

Blair thinks about attempting to cross the street, perhaps exchanging a word or two, and then she loses her breath from the force of what she feels and it lights something inside of her, something too strong to fully comprehend. Blair pulls away, feeling panic replace the giddiness of seeing Nate.

Because the thing about Chuck is that she would have broken him and probably broken herself as well. And looking at his appearance, the look of sickness and closed hospital rooms and sleepless nights with migraines, Blair suddenly understands that this will break Nate, too.

That vigor inside her shuts down and wilts.

–

_Larrabee, Missouri; 2017_

Blair sits throughout the ceremony wordlessly, feeling the scratch at her throat like the chaffing of an invisible noose. She recognizes some of the people around her, but it doesn't matter how many people there are, she feels incredibly alone and anxious to find Nate.

Then she sees him, slipping through the back doors of the church, eyes swollen red and hair matted down with sweat. Blair's heart jolts, knowing what it feels like to face this type of isolation, understanding the fear and the confusion of something you can't control. Of just how terrified it makes someone feel. It is exactly how Blair felt living in France, not knowing what her future would hold, before Nate found her.

Blair looks at him through the corner of her eye and for the first time a hot rush of tears burn up behind her irises.

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep them at bay.

–

_New York, New York; 2016_

"If it's what you think is best, Mr. Bass."

Nate has been standing outside the hospital room for a few minutes now, the door accidently ajar, but the doctor's voice unmistakably clear.

"I will go cancel your appointments now."

He feels absolutely gutted, feet prickling underneath him as Nate pushes through the door once the doctor exits the room. Chuck is straightening his jacket, face hollow but somehow full enough to show that he's surprised by Nate's abrupt intrusion.

"Nate."

"What are you _doing_?" yells Nate, teeth grinding as his mind absolutely refuses to deal with what's in front of him in a reasonable manner. "Why are you stopping treatment?"

"Nate, calm down. Let's head out to dinner someplace and then we can talk," Chuck reasons, hand coming up to touch his shoulder but Nate steps out of his reach, "Come on. You know that it isn't working –"

"So we'll go see someone else," Nate shouts. He realizes that he's grasping at straws here; he's trying to conjure up something that happened years before when he'd urged Chuck around to different hospitals, both for Blair's sake and to satisfy his own remorse.

"Nate, I'm not giving up if that's what you're thinking."

The logic in that statement, no matter how flawed it seems to Nate, strikes a cord. It's unfathomable. When he thinks back to what started all this, that night on the Charlotte and learning that Chuck had cancer for the first time, Nate remembers how guilty he felt for being a terrible person and friend.

His guilt had eventually evened itself out as his emotions moved on to different extremes. The solitude and self imposed exile Nate had brought on himself afterward does that to a person. But, looking at it all now in front of him, standing in the form of his best friend, Nate can't help but think that Chuck is purposely cutting himself off from the people that love and care for him by doing something so selfish without realizing that it is punishment enough. Penance enough for anything that he is culpable for.

Or maybe that's why he's doing it.

"You self-centered asshole," Nate hisses, "Don't tell me you're not giving up when you've got Serena, Eric and Lily and me and _Blair _counting on you to get through this."

Chuck recoils immediately.

"Don't say that. No one is counting on me to make it."

And that thaws Nate open like nothing else has yet, not even when he heard of the relapse, or when he saw Chuck with hair so thin it was practically missing, or when Chuck became too sick to look at that it hurt. Nate sniffs, swallowing the lump that's now permanently lodged in his throat.

"Nate," Chuck says, hands now clasped around his arms. "Nate, it's alright, I swear."

He manages to choke out something unrecognizable, but Chuck seems to understand it perfectly.

"I know, Nate. I know."

Half an hour later they leave the hospital and return to their respective homes. The last thing Nate remembers right before he falls asleep, tired and worn out, is the feel of Blair's sleeve under his fingers, warmed by her skin, as she cradled him in her arms.

–

_New York, New York; 2017_

"You ever think about it?" Blair asks Nate one night. They both made it home before dark for once and there is no work to be completed or a party to attend, so naturally she insists they go out to dinner. "About us still being here after almost a year?"

"Not really." Digging through the drawer, Nate pulls out a clean tie and quickly fastens it. "I like living here."

He loves it here actually. The condo is not too far from either of their workplaces, and if he closes his eyes tight enough, Nate can remember the pleased and sincere expression on Blair's face when they had first discovered the place.

Coming out of the closet in her matching underwear, Blair throws the heap of clothing in her arms onto the bed, turning to face him with one dress and then another for his opinion. When she finds one that makes him smile wider than the rest, she pulls it on, pushing her hair aside for Nate to zip her up.

Sometimes, on nights like this, when they're getting dressed for evenings that aren't much different from the ones they had when they were younger, Nate thinks about this as his future, but with subtle variations.

Blair moves into him and kisses him lightly where his pulse flutters in his neck. Nate runs his palms along the bare skin between her shoulder blades. As thoughts run through his head a mile a minute, he thinks about them now, and how they are.

Coming back to this condo every night and knowing that Blair's going to be there, sitting at the table and watching her pour drinks, having to sift his way through her clothes in the closet to get to his, Nate likes all of that. He likes that Blair enjoys coffee so early in the morning that it's stronger than how he usually takes it when he gets up for work. But most of all, he's grown to love waking up in the middle of the night to the warmth of her small body beside his.

"You're so beautiful," he can't help but murmur as he leans down and kisses her shoulder, "I love you."

Blair grins, eyes hopeful and hands soft as they encircle his neck when she whispers back, "I love you."

The next morning, as they're fumbling to get their coats on, the telephone rings.

"Hello?" Nate asks, looking at his watch to note the time.

The voice at the other end is rough and split into so many pieces that by the time he can put the sounds together and register that it's Serena, Nate is already breaking down into a sob, the phone slipping to the floor. Blair catches him about the shoulders, pressing him into her side. She doesn't need to ask what's happened. Instead, she allows him to stay there as Nate's tears soak the edge of her collar, fingertips embedded into the skin of her arms.

–

_Larrabee, Missouri; 2017_

Nate thinks of a thought he hasn't in years; Blair saying that she loves him the very first time. He remembers the thrill and relief of having someone to confide in, to share his live with. Even now, Blair, impossibly beautiful as she soaks through her black dress, hand pressed tightly in his, with so much strength Nate wishes he could have.

Wariness is a necessity, he realizes. His fingers clench subconsciously, memories of the last time he had seen Chuck still fresh in his mind. A dull stab of phantom pain pulses in his side, the long healed wound calling attention to itself.

When his eyes meet with Blair's, a clammy feeling washes over him. Things should have been different, but maybe they couldn't have been. Perhaps they'd never have been able to get past it all without this.

"Nate."

He turns his attention back to Blair, noting the worry lines crinkling her brow and around her mouth. His fingers reach up to trace them while she gives him a crooked smile.

"It's okay," she whispers, as if she means to say _I'm here with you_.

Nate nods contently, helping her up from the stone steps as they begin their walk back into town.

It's later that they'll put the pieces of themselves back together, and maybe get confused over what belongs to who until there's parts of them that become parts of the other. And maybe, that's okay too.

–

The End


End file.
